


Lawyer Up

by UsakoAuditore



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, Lawyer! AU, Slow Burn, Solavellan, Trespasser Spoilers, absent memories of the past, actually the burn might not be so slow, cole is lonely but adorkable, modern! AU, this is kinda like HTGAWM minus the murder
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-29
Updated: 2015-12-12
Packaged: 2018-04-28 17:16:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 30,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5098823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UsakoAuditore/pseuds/UsakoAuditore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Solas Wolfe and his coworkers, Dorian Pavus and Josephine Montilyet are running the most successful law firm in all of Ferelden. Solas, known as The Dread Wolf of the courtroom, has just won the Kirkwall Chantry V. Anders case in Anders' favor (if you call an insanity plea a favor) and some people are less than happy with him- how unhappy? Ask the smouldering remains of his apartment. </p><p>He is sent to live in protective custody with two (incredibly annoying) dalish women. Their only redeeming factor is that Ellana can cook frilly cakes.<br/>(Otherwise known as the fic where Solas is a Shark Lawyer and Ellana is insufferably adorable)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introducing the Magnificent Mr. Egg

It almost seemed like fate had a way of punching Solas in the face.

Of course, this is an exaggeration, but in his opinion, there was no better way to put it. Solas Wolfe, the most famous, and sometimes infamous lawyer in all of Ferelden, was constantly faced with disaster. Be it his most recent clients caught kissing ( _Orlesian siblings_ ) or his four student trainees being somewhat imbeciles ( _he really had no idea why he chose Sera. He thinks it was drugs_ ), what really took the cake was _This_. 

_This_ being the smoldering remains of his apartment, that is.  


He wasn't called _The Dread Wolf ___for nothing, of course. It was rare the he lose a case. Unfortunately, defending murderers, thieves, and corrupt CEOs tended to make enemies. Solas had been faced with punches, attempted robberies, and enough threatening letters to fill a full set of Varric’s bookcases, but nothing like attempted murder.  


He tried to discourage that.  


Somewhat.  


Of course, he had no _proof_ this was an attempted murder, but the fact that only _his_ apartment had burned whilst he had left on a coffee break coupled with his winning the Kirkwall Chantry case in Anders’ favor (he got off with an insanity plea) in the past week pointed to it not being a coincidence. He supposed it was meant to be ironic, his house burning in return for the enormous chantry. The chantry, however, did not contain several thousands of dollars’ worth of business suits. Solas put his fingers to the bridge of his nose and squeezed.  


A crowd had gathered to watch the spectacle of the penthouse apartment burn, and Solas watched as firefighters rushed into the building to save the floors below his. Eventually, he made his way to the front of the crowd, coffee now cold in his hand, and tapped the stern looking police officer who was shouting orders on the shoulder.  


“Cassandra,” Solas said, waiting for her to turn. As she did, a look of surprised shock morphed into distaste at her recognition. He knew she had disliked his plea for Anders’ case, and was evidently still less than pleased with him for the results.  


“Solas. What are you doing here?” Her Nevarran accent curled around the words like the smoke his apartment seemed so pleased to emit.  


“The apartment is mine. I am assuming it was a sort of returned jab for the Kirkwall case.” Her eyes sparked at the information, and soon her dislike melted into worried concern for her (sometimes) friend.  


“Are you hurt, at all? Do you think this was meant to kill you?” He recognized the distinctly cop undertones of her voice, and allowed his own terse expression to neutralize.  


“As I left through the back of the building, I feel as though that is most likely. The security alarms were not activated, as well.” He sighed and gestured at the coffee cup still lingering in his hand.  


“The casework was getting oppressive and I was aiming to clear my head. Obviously, someone wanted to do my job, they just had less... conventional means.” Solas now glared at the apartment as if its continued smoking was a personal offence, which, actually, it was.  


“We have an arson investigator waiting for the fire to die down before he begins his analysis, and are currently pulling the building’s security tapes,” Cassandra supplied, glancing back to the building with a furrowed brow. “It is now significantly easier to deal with this now that I know the owner. We even have motive.” She sighed.  


A short officer jogged out from the building entrance to Cassandra, sprinkled in ash and smelling strongly of smoke.  


“They got the fire down, not much in the penthouse survived but the other floors are safe. Have you informed the owner yet?” Cassandra cast a look at Solas and back to the building. She held up her hand and gestured to his former home.  


“Solas,” she said in a deadpan voice, “ _that happened._ ”  


His fingers once again found the bridge of his nose.  


***

All things considered, it could have been far worse.  


He could have been _in_ the apartment, or the arsonist could have just shot him in the face. At the prospect of re-supplying a closet of Armani suits, he almost preferred the latter.  


Solas had just settled into his lavish hotel room (because he _could_ , in fact, afford it) when his somewhat calm meal of roasted boar and frilly cakes (he deserved _some_ treats after the day he’d had) when there was a very loud _banging_ on his hotel room door.  


Solas looked up from his meal, irritation making his temples throb. He had made sure no-one but Cassandra knew where he was staying, and given the previous attempt on his life this did not seem like the best of omens.  


As he strode to the door (which was _still_ being attacked) he snapped.  


“If you are here to finish the job I would prefer if you could allow me at least a _small_ reprieve from your incessant loudness so I could spend my last moments in relative peace!” As he wrenched the door open, expecting to be faced with a gun, he was instead greeted with a fist to his face.  


He, once again, would have preferred the gun.  


“Oh dear-” a lightly accented voice gasped somewhere above him, while another familiar voice spouted “Kaffar!”  


Hastily, a tanned hand was held out to him, and as he took it and heaved himself to his feet the same voice, the familiar one, exulted “By the gods, good man! You can’t just open a door without stating you’re doing so whilst someone is knocking!” Solas thought longingly of his peaceful evening as the man spoke, knowing that it was now far beyond his reach.  


“Yes Dorian, but that was not _knocking_. You were _attacking_ my door, and after the day I’ve had it was more likely you were here to kill me, anyway. I did not expect a _punch_.” Solas growled, rubbing his now bruising cheek. He stepped back into the room, staring now at his colleague. Dorian remained unperturbed.  


“Did you think someone came here to finish you off? Not that I blame them, because I was quite ready to kill you myself. What kind of man forgets to inform his business partner that he was almost _murdered_ and then squirrels himself away to a hotel while his home burns?” Dorian’s cheeks had spots of color manifesting just below his cheekbones, and had become increasingly loud throughout his tirade.  


“Not to mention he only disclosed his location to the _chief of police_ instead of instantly reassuring the people closest to him and leaving them _wondering if he still lived_ —” A finger was now pointed accusingly at his chest. “No phone calls! No texts! I know you prefer to live in the Dragon age but it is the _twenty first century_ and—” Solas raised a hand to placate and interrupted.  


“My phone was in the apartment.”  


At this, Dorian deflated. As he ran a hand through his meticulously styled hair, he gestured to the room. Seemingly out of words, he pushed past Solas and flopped _most_ ungracefully into an armchair. It was at this point Solas noted the woman standing behind him.  


Josephine Montilyet was the first person Solas had talked to upon arriving at Val Royeaux Law, the most esteemed law school in all of Orlais, possibly Thedas. She had greeted him warmly and was persistent about making friends. On his first night she had dragged him to a seedy bar (oh the _scandal_! She had squealed at the thought of being caught) and from then on they remained close. Upon graduating, both had been offered positions at the highly esteemed _Evanuris_ firm, where they eventually met Dorian. Solas was keenly aware of the slightly corrupt dealings of the firm, and had promptly left, after (allegedly) breaking Andruil’s computer. Josephine and Dorian had followed, and they began a firm on their own.  


Shockingly, once out of the clutches of Evanuris, Solas blossomed into a fearless lawyer with _no_ sense of mercy. He won every case, and his reputation preceded him. Montilyet and Wolfe (much to Dorian’s distaste, his name was not included on the cards) moved to Ferelden to seek better clients (and less slander from the people of Evanuris) and less pomp. There, the company became famous and settled in Denerim, re-naming themselves Skyhold Associates.  


Josephine’s hands were clenched around her briefcase, and her face was pale beneath her tan. Solas’ heart sank, regretting not telling the woman of his survival, and he opened his mouth to give her a better explanation than he gave Dorian.  


His open mouth was met with her flat palm as she pushed her hand in his face and shoved past him.  


“Not. A. Word.” She said, her words icy and clipped. Solas frowned as now both sitting spaces in his hotel room were occupied.  


“I do hope that you both realize that someone tried to kill me today. The guilt tripping and physical harm is less than appreciated.” Solas muttered, strolling into _his_ room after closing the door. His partners spared him a glance before pulling paperwork from their bags, respectively.  


Solas sighed. It was Josephine that spoke first.  


“We’ve hired Leliana to investigate, of course. I think I know who it was, but there must be a certain grace about such things.” With a gesture, she indicated the paperwork in Dorian’s outstretched hand. “She’s tailing him now, and we are hoping he will slip up and reveal something.” Solas was surprised at how fast she had acted, and he felt a stirring in his heart. Josephine was always a mothering figure to him, and it helped that her best friend was a PI.  


He took the documents.  


A young face greeted him, with medium length brown hair and fair skin. It was all too familiar.  


“The _prince_ of _Starkhaven_?” He said, shock breaking his usual mask of neutrality. Dorian nodded with a grin.  


“If you’ll remember, he was quite _fond_ of the priestess who perished in the chantry explosion—”  


“Grand-Cleric,” Josephine interrupted.  


“ _Whatever_ , he was involved with her and was leading a veritable witch hunt against Anders. He must have been quite furious that _you_ got him off with insanity.” Dorian stroked his mustache disapprovingly, if that was possible.  


“Do you really think a _prince_ would stoop to such levels as attempted murder? Wouldn't it be obvious he was the culprit? You two found him immediately!” Solas didn't see the sense in their suspicions—sure, he had defended a mass murderer, but Anders was _genuinely_ crazy. He claimed he heard the voice of _Justice_ and it told him what to do. Solas knew his plea wasn't much of a reach.  


Dorian, and apparently most of his colleagues, disagreed. He was a good lawyer though, and his partners did help him reach the jury. The repercussions, though, were unexpected. He _really_ didn't want to have to buy new suits.  


Dorian plucked a frilly cake off of the platter of food and Solas _twitched_.  


“He is as good a place to start as any. And really, that’s not why we’re here.” Josephine said, following Dorian’s suit and taking a small cake for herself. Solas’ eyes narrowed.  


“If you two did not come here to inform me of my would-be murderer’s identity, was this trip merely to guilt me? Or perhaps you just wanted a sweet treat.” The last words were bitten out through tight lips. He really wanted those cakes.  


Josephine lifted her eyes to look at him as she bit down. Dorian smirked.  


“In part, it was to guilt you. We also bear a message from our favorite police chief!” Solas did not like the look in Dorian’s eye. It was the look he got when there was a particularly badly dressed witness on the stand, or when he was about to tell Solas something he really wouldn't like.  


Despite Solas’ current fashion choices (Dorian would later call it “burnt out hobo” with a laugh of glee), he suspected it was the latter. “What does Cassandra want?”  


Josephine, now finished with her (his) pastry, smiled.  


“She wants you in protective custody, and I have _just_ the friend for it!”


	2. In Which Lavellan Has a Terrible No Good Just Bad Kind of Day

_Three Weeks Earlier_

Ellana was not having a good day.

Her alarm had refused to function (she did _not_ forget to set it) and she was late for her pattern drafting class. Across town. By ten minutes.

Ellana was _not having a good day._

She had rolled (quite literally) out of bed, sprinted down the stairs of her apartment, and didn’t even have time to greet Merrill “ _on dhea”_ before bolting through the door.

At the bus stop, Ellana Lavellan’s foot beat out a frantic beat as she waited.

She was Dalish, with long red hair that couldn’t quite decide to be curly or straight, so it typically tried to strangle itself without direction (she usually kept it in a loose braid over her right shoulder), and dark green markings down her face. Since she was a child, she had shown an affinity for _making things_ (be it the clothes for her dolls or intricate fairy houses out of sticks and leaves) so when she came of age, it was a unanimous decision for her to take June’s vallaslin. The blood writing stood out on her pale skin, highlighting her chin and cheekbones.

Ellana grew up on a reservation with clans Lavellan and Sabrae sharing the space; she and Merrill  were Firsts (both showing a spark for magic at a young age) and had grown up spending time together, so naturally, when Merrill  left for college, Ellana tried to follow suit.

Merrill was interested in archeology, wearing the blood writing of Falon'Din— _friend of the dead_. She was constantly searching for knowledge about the history of the elves, making her career path obvious.

She was determined, and with the support of her _mysterious benefactor_ (really, it was the clan’s previous First, Neria, now known as _the hero of Ferelden_ for her actions to destroy the Blight virus that nearly killed the king) she was accepted into Val Royeaux College of Fine Arts and Literature. Merrill left, delighted. Clan Lavellan had no financial means to send Ellana along, and with a heavy heart, she had remained.

Remained, that is, until Merrill wrote her.

The letter spoke of the unbelievable wonders of Halamshiral, the exciting digs, and the lovely friends she had made in the few weeks she had been in attendance. Ellana, green with envy, parted from her clan and hitchhiked all the way from the Dales to Val Royeaux. Merrill received her with open arms, and Ellana had gotten a job at _Emerald King_. She remained working there for two years before meeting Vivienne, who stopped her in the street to compliment her on her dress.

Ellana couldn’t afford to buy new clothing, so like any crafty, June marked Dalish, she made her own. Mostly from sheets. On the day Vivienne stopped her, Ellana had been on her way to work, wearing a blue silken sheet fashioned into the latest (less offensive) style of the city. Vivienne was taken with the fine work of the dress and gave Ellana her card, requesting she contact her with commission pricing.

That was the day Ellana quit her job.

Vivienne introduced her to the life of a seamstress, and under her tutelage Ellana became extremely well known for her skilled hands. She was flooded with commissions and no longer had any trouble paying rent.

As Merrill’s graduation approached, Ellana found herself at a loss. Even with the exorbitant fees she charged for her clothing, she by no means had enough to pay for a Val Royeaux apartment by herself, and Merrill was moving to Denerim for graduate school. Vivienne convinced her to apply to the Denerim Academy of Art and Design, a ridiculously prestigious art school that had produced some of the most famous designers of the century, but Ellana had low hopes.

She had resigned to returning to her clan in shame, with nothing to show for her four years abroad. The day Merrill slammed into their apartment holding a thick letter from the Academy was forever burned into Ellana’s brain.

She had been given the _Herald_ scholarship—something that not only offered a full ride at the school, but living expenses as well. Ellana was shocked, as the scholarship was _strictly_ Andrastian, but somehow had been awarded to a Dalish.

It was only later, during her interview with the school, had they realized that she was Dalish. And an Elf. Luckily for Ellana, they couldn’t rescind the scholarship, and she now attended one of the most prestigious technical schools in all of Thedas.

Merrill was delighted, and the girls happily continued to live together. Upon arriving in Denerim, they had made quick friends with Isabella, a bartender, and within the month all three were living together. To Ellana, it seemed life couldn’t get much more perfect.

Until she was late for class.

On _the first day of the second semester_.

As the bus pulled up to the stop, Ellana managed to trip over her feet and land in a mud puddle before clambering into a seat. Ignoring the raised eyebrows of her fellow passengers, she shut her eyes.

And promptly missed her stop.

As Ellana dashed through campus, she frantically searched for building names. As she was beginning to question the small campus map clutched in her hand, she spotted it—Haven Hall.

As she scrambled up the steps and into her classroom, Ellana let herself sigh in relief. She’d made it.

“Thirty minutes late to class, Miss Lavellan?” a stern voice shattered her relief. She slowly opened her eyes, fully aware of the blush that was culminating at the tips of her ears. The name on the chalkboard was… actually, there was no name at all.

Ellana blinked. There was no name on the board. How did she respond?

“Y-yes, I’m sorry. The bus was late and I missed the stop and—“She was interrupted by the piercing stare of the woman at the head of the classroom.

“I am professor Yavana, and you would have known that if you had been in class at the correct time. Do try not to be late.” Ellana stared into her professors weirdly yellow eyes and set to work.

 

Four hours and several patterns later, Ellana stalked out of her classroom.

Her professor, _Morrigan Yavana_ , had in no time picked apart Ellana’s clothing, pattern making skills, and even her _hair_. To be fair, she was not at her best. In her hurry to leave the house, she had left in her pajamas, which happened to be bright yellow with little pink winged nugs prancing across them. Coupled with her usually unruly hair and the mud making her pantlegs stiff, she was a sight to behold.

Ellana was quite ready to go _back home_ and cry into her cheerios.

Only they didn’t have milk.

With an irritated curse, she kicked the ground in front of her, sending small pebbles flying.

“Careful with those! You’ll hit a girl like me right in the eye!” a giggle sounded from in front of her. Ellana slowly lifted her gaze to behold Dagna, looking like the little ray of sunshine that she was. A smile broke across her face.

“Oh Dagna! You wouldn’t _believe_ the day I’ve had!” Dagna laughed again and led Ellana towards a popular coffee shop off campus.

“Let me get you some tea and we can talk about it all you want!”

Hours later found the two women still talking in the small coffee shop, smiling and laughing and recounting their stories from winter break.

“…So there I was, naked in the moonlight, laughing as the poor things hightailed it back to their town naked as the creators made them!” Ellana finished her story with a flourish, causing Dagna to once more burst into a fit of giggles.

“The poor things! I don’t know how you dalish manage in the cold like that, but humans have _parts_ Ellana, they don’t _work_ after being in the cold too long!” The dwarf exclaimed. Ellana was giggling uncontrollably.

Dagna smiled. “Do I have permission to tell Sera that story? She’d _love_ it!” Ellana nodded, sobering.

“How _is_ Sera, anyway? Wasn’t she chosen for that lawyer-apprentice thing?” Dagna smiled, obviously proud.

“She’s working really hard! I hear her boss is a bit of a prick though, but this is Sera. She likes Josephine well enough, and Dorian is weirdly charming. It’s really just boss man that still gets her in a twist.”

Ellana had met Dagna in her first class at the Academy, textile engineering. It was interesting, sort of like a mix between making fabric and seeing what it took to set things on fire. Dagna liked it better, while Ellana was cautious. They had sat next to one another (the dwarf and the elf, of course) and a friendship quickly formed.

Dagna’s girlfriend, Sera, had demanded to meet Ellana after growing bored of hearing Dagna speak of her. Ellana still found it hard to believe that _Sera_ , silly, prank loving, bourgeoisie hating Sera was an aspiring lawyer. She wanted to defend the “little people” and Ellana respected that. Still, at their first meeting Sera has thrown a pie at her face and told her to “back offa’ my Widdle” before laughing maniacally.

She was weirdly smart though, and had been selected with three other people to apprentice at her Professor’s law firm for a year. As far as Ellana could tell, Sera was _going_ places in life. She couldn’t say that much for herself, to be honest.

 The tinkling sounds of her cell phone pulled Ellana from her reverie. The caller ID claimed it was Merrill calling. Ellana excused herself from the table and stepped outside to take it.

“ _On dhea’him_ , Merrill!” she chirped, mood significantly brighter. Silence met her happy greeting.

“Merrill? Is everything all right?” she asked, tone swiftly changing to one of concern. She glanced at the screen of her phone to make sure that she had indeed answered the call.

“Ellana—” came Merrill’s voice, shaken and worried. The smile melted from Ellana’s face.

“What’s happened? Are you all right? Merrill?” Ellana asked, preparing to charge back inside the café to beg a ride home.

“No—it is Isabella! She was arrested. Or fled? Something with the police. Can you come home?” Merrill’s voice was small as Ellana walked into the café and began to pack up her things. She gave Dagna a pleading look while making steering wheel motions (thankfully, Dagna caught on and grabbed her keys) and headed out.

“I’m on my way! Don’t worry. Everything will be fine.”

As she hung up the phone and settled into Dagna’s passenger seat, her driver gave her an imploring look.

“I repeat. I am _not_ having a good day.”

__

As Dagna pulled up to the front of Ellana’s apartment, she could see at _least_ three squad cars with officers milling about her apartment. Dagna’s eyes widened as she took in the scene before them.

“You sure you want to get out?” she half-joked, foot hovering over the gas pedal.

“No,” Ellana sighed, “but I have to eventually.” And she climbed out of the car. As she made her way up to the front door, she met Merrill, who was tucked under the arm of an exceedingly pretty Antivan woman. Her eyebrows shot up as she took in Ellana’s appearance.

“Hey, I can take her off your hands, if you need them,” Ellana offered touching Merrill’s arm. The Dalish woman glanced at her and gave a watery smile.

“Perhaps it would be better if I came inside and explained all of this to you,” the woman said with prettily accented words. Nodding her assent, Ellana followed them into the house.

\--

The woman, it turned out, was Josephine Montilyet, a lawyer friend Merrill had made when the legal right to an archeological dig was called into question the previous summer. Ellana was surprised to be meeting the woman she was talking with Dagna about not an hour before. She explained that, apparently, Isabella had stolen a briefcase of sensitive information from a Qunari representative while he had a nightcap.

She (hopefully) wasn’t aware that the representative was also the most infamous Qunari mobster in history, dubbed The Arishok. Upon this realization, she had made for the hills.

After emptying her bank account and clearing out her things, of course.

Ellana’s head dropped into her hands. She knew without a third roommate there was _no way_ she and Merrill could keep paying for their _very_ conveniently located apartment. She looked around the small house, mentally saying goodbye. Josephine patted her on the knee sympathetically.

 “You would think moving in with someone after knowing them for only a few weeks would be a _bad_ idea, wouldn’t it?” she muttered, kicking herself. Josephine smiled.

“Everything will be fine, Ellana, I’m sure of it.”

She offered a small smile.

“Tea?”

\--

Ellana and Merrill slowly got used to living on their own again. It was a rainy Thursday when Ellana received a text from Dagna.

**Dagna: Ginger! Do you want to come to a party?**

Ellana motioned Merrill over. She smiled and nodded and Ellana typed out a response.

**Ellana: Sounds plausible? Crazy artists or boring lawyers in attendance?**

Merrill giggled at the jab.

**Dagna: All of the above—you can meet Sera’s wondersquad!**

Ellana smiled and accepted the invitation before jogging upstairs to put on something slightly more presentable than nug pajamas.

Perhaps the week could get better, after all.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in the next chapter..... the wonderful mr. egg makes an appearance! this is mostly a filler chapter to get a feel of Lavellan and how she comes across on paper.
> 
> Elvhen in this chapter: 
> 
> On dhea = Good morning
> 
> On dhea'him = Good afternoon


	3. In Which Ellana Meets Mr. Egg

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes it's better to ask the dress code before going to a party.

Ellana was no stranger to parties.

Working at _Emerald King_ had certainly afforded her interesting company—company that had no qualms with giving two college-aged Dalish girls plenty of alcohol despite their age. It was a common misconception that all Dalish brewed and imbibed their own “special” brand of alcohol (nothing like the Avvar moonshine, but apparently it tasted like wine) and so her friends had assumed it was normal practice. Ellana could still picture Oghren’s face when the girls were wasted after two shots, regret making his beard quiver. She giggled, happy at the memory.

Dagna’s party was quite a bit different from the drunken entertainment (fiasco) Zevran and Oghren had hosted, and Ellana was shocked. With Dagna’s sunny personality and Sera’s… Sera-ness, Ellana had recommended Merrill to wear something scandalous. Luckily for Merrill, that meant leggings and a tight sweater—Ellana, however, was quite a different case.

Clad in a short white dress and a pair of (dangerous) heels, the January air was more than pleased to nip at her exposed skin. As Dagna answered the door, she took in Ellana’s dress and let out a loud snort.

“Ginger, I know you’re a fashion student, but the whole ‘beauty is pain’ thing can only go _so_ far.” Ellana scowled.

“Yes, well in my experience, parties require this sort of attire. I see that I was wrong.”

“A bit?”

“Just let us in!” Dagna laughed and stepped aside, allowing Merrill and Ellana into the unfamiliar house. They were met with softly playing music and the thrum of conversation. It was a pleasant atmosphere, and Ellana felt extremely out of place.

“Is this Sera’s place? Last I remembered, you had an apartment.” Dagna laughed.

“I didn’t mean to mislead you, but this isn’t really _my_ party. This is the house that Sera works out of with the lawyer team. It’s technically their office.” Dagna gave a sheepish grin. “They’re celebrating winning a case, and I thought you might need some cheering up after the Isabella thing.” Ellana’s heart sank.

“Creators preserve me, they’re going to think I’m the stripper.” Dagna laughed and Merrill put a comforting hand on Ellana’s shoulder.

“It’s all right, I’m sure they’ll think you’re cute!”

“Or at least quaint,” Dagna muttered with a smirk. Ellana wanted to leave as quickly as possible. Despite Dagna’s assurances, the building seemed filled with far more professionals than art students like herself. She glanced behind her to see Merrill already engaged in conversation with a sturdy looking red-headed woman (Ellana could have sworn Merrill called her “professor”) and that Dagna had disappeared. With a sigh, she headed further into the building.

She passed by a large living room where a merry fire crackled and several people were talking and made her way to some of the more uproarious noise coming from, what she assumed, was the kitchen.

Upon arriving, what she saw was… interesting.

A Qunari man, with Sera _quite literally_ hanging from his shoulders, was shouting for her to chug. Upon further inspection, Ellana noticed the tube in Sera’s mouth was connected to a keg. _This_ setting was more familiar to her. As her eyes met with the girls, Sera’s spluttered, sending ale (?) all over the Qunari man. The small crowd of onlookers cheered, and Sera pulled herself up to sit on the Qunari’s horns. Ellana had no words.

“Inky! Came at the right time, din’t ya! Have a slurp!” Sera’s voice slurred happily on the words, and she unceremoniously shoved the tube towards Ellana. The Qunari man laughed and gave her a slow once over, grinning when he reached her face.

“I didn’t know the team paid for a stripper,” he said, voice rumbling with amusement, “but bless them for getting a redhead.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively, causing Ellana to flush furiously red.

“Not a stripper, just a girl.” She snapped, glaring at Sera (who only grinned back) for not correcting him. “What do I have to do for a drink?” The Qunari gave a rich laugh that bounced Sera up and down and gestured to a man by the counter.

“Krem! Give the lady some of Dorian’s ‘vint stuff—that ought to loosen her up!”

Ellana glanced at the man making her drink and nearly choked. Never in her blessed life had she seen such a creature. He had perfect hair and eyes that could tame a lion in seconds, with a smattering of freckles that rivaled her own. He smiled and handed her the drink, which she took with shaking hands. _Never_ had she seen a shem so gorgeous. She took a gulp of the drink to ease her shock.

And nearly choked it back up.

“ _Creators!_ What _is_ this, nug piss?”

A laugh resounded in the room as Sera cackled. She looked to the Qunari for clarification. “It’s tevinter, and that’s all you’ll want to know.” He was now sporting an easy grin, and with the alcohol starting to warm her stomach, she found it hard not to respond in kind. She held out the hand not holding her drink.

“Ellana.” Catching on, the Qunari grasped her hand in kind. “I’m James Bulle, but the squad calls me ‘The Iron Bull’. These are my Chargers,” he stated, gesturing around the room. “We’re also called the Major Crimes team, but y’know, semantics.” Ellana looked around the room with surprise—she knew Sera and Dagna had lawyer friends, but _cops?_

Well, she supposed stranger things _had_ happened.

__

After downing the contents of her cup with encouragement from Iron Bull, he had deemed her buzzed enough to introduce her to the other members of the party.

“They can be a dry lot, sometimes, especially Solas, but with enough drink I think even the _Chief_ would like you. And she doesn’t like anyone!” Ellana looked at him, hoping he wasn’t talking about the _chief of police_ and knowing better. Because of course he was. She was glad she had left the elfroot buds at home.

Bull led her back towards the room with the fire, but not before steering her straight into a dwarf.

“Hey Tiny, watch where you’re pushing people! Dwarves have feelings too!” at this, Ellana giggled and the dwarf was made to look at her.

“You must be the Herald—I’ve heard about you from Dagna.” He offered her a grin and a handshake, one she returned while looking at him dubiously.

“How did you know it was me?”

“Unless there’s another red headed stripper at the party, I’m pretty sure she was talking about you.” He laughed and Iron Bull commented “If there is one, tell her to find me,” with a wink. Ellana was too buzzed to feel bruised at the stripper comment and grinned back at the dwarf.

“It’s Ellana. I’m not a huge fan of the ‘Herald’ business.” Iron Bull, now convinced she was socializing, wandered away muttering about ‘makin this a _real_ party’ seemingly unaware of the drunk elf slumped over his horns.

“Well I’m Varric—I work with the Denerim News Source. I report, extort, and get information any damn way I can.” Ellana laughed.

“Good to know! What brings you to a party of cops and lawyers?” Varric raised his eyebrows as if to reinforce his last statement. Ellana’s mouth became an ‘O’ of understanding. “Ah. So no drinking for you?” At this, Varric laughed.

“Not at all, Herald, not at all. I’m here strictly for fun. And my wife’s my ride home, so I can’t argue much.” He punctuated this by taking a swig of his beer. “Let’s introduce you to the team, shall we?” Ellana nodded and followed him into the living room.

__

Solas did not like parties.

He didn’t like the loud music, the drunken people, or the socializing.

But most of all, he really hated the surprises. Like the stripper.

Josephine had thought it suitable to throw a party to celebrate his winning of the Kirkwall V. Anders case, despite her dislike of the sentencing. It had been a large payout to them, and their firm had gained all the fame for it.

Solas was very clear that he wished to remain in his office for the duration of the festivities, and had made the mistake of leaving the room to grab a cup of coffee. He knew Josephine would do just about anything to get him to “come out of his shell” (in this case, his office), but really, he had never thought she would stoop to levels so low.

The stripper was lingering in the hallway, leaning against the stairwell that led to his office. A drink was in her hand, and her eyes were closed. She seemed to be taking a moment of relaxation. He wondered if she was the cause for the sudden increase in volume of the music that had taken place hours before.

With a snort of disgust, he made his way down the steps to stand in front of her, hands clasped. Upon closer inspection, Solas saw the dark green markings of June on her face, and his animosity grew. He knew Josephine could take things too far sometimes, but a _Dalish_? Surely even she knew that was more than he could stand. He tapped on her shoulder.

Blearily, an eye opened. “Whass’it” the woman slurred. Solas could _smell_ the alcohol on her.

“I think it would be best if you left. Your job seems to be done and so are you.” With this, he plucked the cup from her hand and led her firmly to the door. “I am sure you took payment in advance, now kindly leave.” The woman was staring at him now, a bit of sobriety leaking into her gaze. She started to say something but he promptly cut her off.

“I am sure you can call your handler. You are no longer welcome here, and since I _own_ the building, you are now trespassing on private property. This house is full of policemen who would gladly argue my case, if I needed it. Now leave,” he said, pushing her outside, “and do not come back.”

With this, he closed the door and turned the lock. It was January, and if the girl had chosen to come in costume, she could wait for her ride in one.

Satisfied, he brewed his coffee and returned to his office.

__

In the end, Cassandra found her.

She assumed the music was too loud for people to hear her incessant banging on the door, and the kitchen door had been locked. In the end, Ellana was locked outside in a flimsy white babydoll, warmed only by her alcoholic content.

Which, to be fair, was abundant.

For the first few minutes, Ellana sat on the porch, near the door. She savored the warmth that came from the crack, sometimes snuggling up until her head banged on the doorknob. After a few minutes of futilely hugging the doorframe, her mind became otherwise occupied.

But that _man_. That weirdly attractive neo-Adonis-sweater-wearing _sweet slice of pie_. She didn’t think bald was attractive but _that was then_. She almost didn’t even care that he’d kicked her out. The second his eyes met her (and _creators_ did he steal a piece of the sky? His eyes were the color of the sea during a storm, where the grey sky melts with the crystal water and she was already _waxing poetic_ about the man who _kicked her out of a party_ ) everything else had become fuzzy. More fuzzy than Tevinter whisky, but somehow sweeter than Antivan wine. She hoped they would tell this story at the wedding.

“What wedding?” a crisp, Nevarran accent asked.

Ellana’s head shot up, eyes observing the tall woman standing above her. She had been introduced to the police chief earlier in the night, and had liked the woman. Her drunken mind had trouble remembering her name. She was holding a large bag of ice, and her eyes beheld Ellana with incredulity. She supposed it was understandable, seeing the situation she was in. Her lips must be blue.

“Mine and Mr. Jawline. Do you think I could open a bottle on it? He’s so _chiseled_ ” Cassandra sniffed.

“I have an idea who you are talking about, and I am surprised he emerged from his cave. It is unlike him.”

Ellana smiled serenely (difficult to do with numb lips, and the result was more of a grimace) and whined, “Could we go inside now?”

Cassandra huffed and texted her husband.

“Just a moment.”

__

 

After the party ended (he made sure, furtively glancing out his window as the accumulated cars left the building), Solas ventured out of his office. As he turned to lock his office, he noticed a note taped to the wood.

His heart sank.

It was a note, written in the firm, all capital script Cassandra favored.

“NOT A STRIPPER, BUT A GUEST”

He groaned, and resolved to send a basket of muffins or some other menial thing.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Slightly longer wait for this chapter, but I've been sick with the flu and focusing on the whole "dont-throw-up" thing. Ellana is basically wearing this dress: http://www.freepeople.com/shop/with-love-dress/?c=dresses with a a few inches off the bottom and these shoes: http://www.lollicouture.com/shoes-heels-kv1-vicky-19olivepu.html
> 
> If people are interested in seeing my sketches of our cast, please let me know!


	4. In Which Time Goes Back to Normal and We See a Pattern Begin to Form

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a warning: this contains Trespasser spoilers!! Do not read this unless you want some pretty major spoilers for the end of trespasser!!!

“She wants you in protective custody, and I have _just_ the friend for it!”

Solas sighed.

“I assure you, there is no need for me to be displaced. I have the money to sustain a few comfortable weeks at the hotel until I can find a better place to live. As much as the thought is…” he grimaced, “…appreciated, there is no need for such precautions.”

Josephine’s mouth pressed into a thin line. Dorian smirked.

“It is, quite literally, the chief’s orders. If you want to piss off Pentaghast, do it in a way that won’t effect our firm. She threatened to stop working so closely with us if you refused.” There was a familiar note of satisfaction in Dorian’s voice, as if he was pleased about the situation Solas faced. Irritated, Solas glanced at the flecks of pastry left in Dorian’s mustache.

“Is there no other place for me to go but a strangers? If this is indeed about me having ‘constant companions’.”

Josephine’s mouth once again curved into a smile, albeit thinner than before. “Cassandra believes that whomever has tried to take your life took precautions not to harm anyone but _you_ in the initial explosion. She believes that keeping you around other people will ensure your safety.” The idea made sense, in retrospect, but Solas wouldn’t go down without a fight.

“If that is the case, is Chief Pentaghast at ease putting others in danger? Wouldn’t living with me put them at risk? What if she is _wrong_ about the attempted killer? Living in a hotel would ensure my safety, since they are heavily monitored, and keep those around me safe as well. It is _obviously_ the best solution.”  He finished his tirade with a huff as Dorian shot him yet another smug look.

“Window. Coffee. Door. _Pastries_. The ‘attempted killer’ could have killed you in the past hour with any of these methods. It is quite easy to blend in with kitchen staff. A well-aimed shot from the building across the way could leave your head looking like a smashed pumpkin. You _opened your door to me after asking me to kill you already_. My dear man, even _you_ see the foolishness of your statement.” Dorian was looking down his nose at him (which of course only _Dorian_ could do while sitting down), assured of his victory, “The people Josephine suggests you live with are discreet, if nothing else. They keep far below profile, and live close to town. Even _Cassandra_ likes them.” Solas made his way to the bed and allowed himself a seat, head sinking down into his hands.

“I can find friends to live with on my own,” he muttered into his palms, only to be met with a snort from Josephine and an all-out laugh from Dorian.

“Solas, you _have_ very few friends. You cannot stay with me because I value my sex life and you would keep Bull all _night_ with those games of chess. Josephine harbors a criminal,” she sent him a sharp glare, “I’m sorry, a _vigilante_ , in her bedroom and one must wonder what crime they could possibly find _there_ , but—” Josephine held her hand up to Dorian’s face, eyes threatening.

“But what he is trying to say is that these friends of mine are your only options. It is quite fortunate for you that their last roommate fled the country and they have been searching for a housemate.”

At the words “fled the country”, Solas’ head raised out of his hands. He gave Josephine a suspicious look. “I’m sorry, it is a most sensitive matter. I cannot discuss it.” She said, hands held up in placation. “Ellana is a most wonderful cook though, if that makes a difference? And Merrill is very interested in archeology. I’m sure conversation with the both of them would be rich!”

He twitched at the names, suddenly realizing that his expected housemates were, indeed, female.

“If this is some foolish attempt to coerce me into a romantic relationship with one of your friends—” He began, only to be interrupted by Dorian (again).

“Yes, because we would find it necessary to make an attempt on your life to get you laid. As much as we love you, dear man, we do have limits,” He stroked his mustache thoughtfully, “but indeed, they are lovely women, and I think you could indeed have some _fun_ , if you take the opportunity…” Solas glared. “…although we all remember Andruil, and that went horribly, so I for one understand swearing off women. Men though…” Solas held up a hand.

“Please, I have too much to think about already.” Dorian gave a true laugh this time, knowing Solas would at least consent to living with the girls until he found a new home.

“Well now _that_ is settled, we must talk about this kissing situation with the twins…”

Solas groaned. _Orlesians_.

 

**

Ellana woke in a castle.

She knew for a fact that she had never visited one, but this place seemed _familiar_ somehow, like she had been there in a dream. It was quite undoubtedly a castle, judging by the enormous, canopied bed she woke on, the plush rugs of the room, and the doors to the _duel_ balconies. Ellana had read of such places, in books usually recommended by Merrill, but she could never have imagined _this._

The room was warmed by a fire in a hearth directly opposite her bed (it was a startling realization that it was, indeed, _her_ bed. The words just seemed… _right)_. The place next to her was warm, but a jawbone wrapped in leather was all that remained. A crushing sense of loss swept through Ellana’s body, causing her chest to heave and tears to flood her eyes. She had no idea _why_ she was so sad, but it was a weirdly common sensation. In the back of her mind, a voice whispered.

_Is this our last goodbye? Is it that time already?_

Ellana’s eyebrows furrowed. The voice was hers, the words unfamiliar. She reached for the jawbone, but came up short.

Her arm—

Her arm was missing. She had always been left handed, so naturally, it was with her left that she reached out, and yet—

There was nothing. Perhaps a lingering feeling of magic, but nothing physical there. Her mind was cloudy, because she _knew_ she had an arm, she could not sew without one, but also _remembered_ losing it, the harsh sound of her own blade slicing through flesh, the screams she shuttered in her throat. The tears at the loss of her everything. But that wasn’t right.

Even though, somehow, it was.

Shifting her weight to her right hand, Ellana all but threw herself out of bed. She was annoyed at the effort it took, like someone had sapped not only her energy but also the mana from her body. It was like she had been sick and unable to move for weeks, at _least_. Which, once again, was not right. Because Professor Yavana (or, more prudently, that _bitch_ Morrigan) had been snapping at her to move around her dress form more to inspect the angles of her latest design. Ellana remembered choosing to walk home, wanting to blow off steam. After six blocks of walking in heels, she hailed a cab the rest of the way.

She approached the balcony doors, an odd sense of dread slowly taking over her with each step. She _knew_ opening the doors would show her something too painful to bear, but she couldn’t remember _what_ it was and the voice in her head was urging her forward. Her palm was on the handle when a voice called out.

“His sorrow will carry, Ellana.”

She whipped around, meeting the eyes of a young man. His face was gaunt, almost corpse like (and _how did she know that she hadn’t ever seen a corpse_ but somehow she also _had, and the Mire was littered with them and “go forward, we will hold them”_ ), and a large hat obscured most of his straw colored hair from view. What she could see of it hung limply to his shoulder blades. His clothing sported patches and sloppy stitching, _nothing_ she would ever sell but somehow fitting on him, and his voice was young and lilting and once again so oddly _familiar_.

“I’m sorry?” She asked, wondering where she had seen the young man before.

“Waiting, wanting, weeping, so alone and yet not so, you know you are losing but how can he not know, how does he live while you cannot but you know because he is gone and while he still holds yours but _you cannot live without a heart_ ,” words pour from his lips, resonating oddly in her chest. They ring true, but Ellana doesn’t understand, and he continues, “You’re you, but not you. I am the only one who remembers, and this is a memory, but not mine. Open the door and you will see, but he will be gone again.” She glances at the handle. Back at the boy, and then again to the door. She knows the dread in her chest must mean something horrible, but she can’t resist _knowing_ , and so she yanks on the handle and strides outside.

She looks to the sky and sees it explode. With it, her dream.

**

This time when she wakes, Ellana is sure of it being reality. Both of her arms are where they belong, and her small bedroom is anything but a castle. It is also _cold._ Grumbling, she slipped out of bed, padding across the room to retrieve her small space heater. It was something from her days with Clan Lavellan, when the reservation lost power in the winter. A regular occurrence, her people were forced to group around these small heaters and huddle for warmth. Deshanna had given it to her as a parting gift, stating something about cold Orlesian winters. The tears in her eyes told another story, but theirs was a history long past.

Ellana had scarcely fit in with her clan. Marked by her peers as a snob (for her magic and her propensity to spend all of her time with Merrill), and marked by her elders as a troublemaker (she really didn’t _mean_ to _deface_ the statue of Fen’Harel, but she thought the powders gave him a pleasant blush), her clan wasn’t too unhappy to see her go. A young boy had recently been gifted with magic ( _Mythal’s favor,_ according to his vallaslin) and Ellana was free to leave, First only in name. Her training had consumed her childhood, and being thrown away had stung. Her thirst for adventure soon outweighed her sense of duty (to a clan that did not want her), and she had set off. It seemed only Deshanna was reluctant to see her go. It was fair, because the woman had practically raised her after the deaths of her parents. She was still sometimes wracked with guilt post departure.

She and Deshanna exchanged letters weekly despite the high postage costs, allowing themselves the luxury of communication. Deshanna refused to get a phone, despite Ellana’s encouragements, and so nug-mail was their chief source of communication. Ellana loved her all the more for it.

As Ellana plugged the small heater in, she rummaged around in her closet for the most comfortable thing she owned: her first real “piece” of clothing. When she was ten, Ellana and Merrill had come upon a large wolf shot full of arrows. The girls recognized the fletching as that of the nearby shem village, and in pity, sliced the wolf’s throat. Before they gave him this small mercy, Ellana could have sworn she saw thankfulness in his eyes. Reluctant to allow the Shems such an unmerciful kill, she and Merrill had managed to drag the body back to the reservation.

Merrill wanted nothing to do with the corpse, but Ellana felt drawn to it. She had Deshanna show her how to preserve the pelt, and slept with it for many years. As her crafting skills manifested, Deshanna suggested making the pelt into a cloak of sorts, to not only respect the wolf’s spirit, but to also offer protection to the wearer. Ellana fashioned the pelt, and on her last day with the clan, she handed it to Deshanna.

“ _Fen’Harel enesal, Keeper. It is yours, if you will have it.”_ Deshanna had looked at her with a sort of horror before offering it back to Ellana. “ _Ir abelas, Da’len, you know I cannot. Take it yourself, and may he never catch your scent._ ” She understood the rejection, knowing if the Keeper accepted such a gift she would be condemning herself, and donned the cloak. She thanked Deshanna for everything and set off on her journey.

When she had crafted the cloak, she made sure it was several sizes larger than herself, so if Deshanna needed to lend it to another clansman it would fit comfortably. On her small form, Ellana was swathed in warmth, and felt shielded from any discomfort. As she stroked the outside of her cloak, the memories of her dream floated away, and she began to warm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elvhen in this Chapter:
> 
> Fen'Harel Enesal: The Dread-Wolf's Blessing Upon You  
> Ir Abelas: My apolagies  
> Da'len: Little one/ Young one, common name you a Dalish who is younger than you. 
> 
> Sorry for the sporadic updates. I am the only person making costumes for my college's fall production and I'm having a bit of trouble finding time to write AND get homework done before fall semester ends. 
> 
> I promise I'm going to include more inquisition-etc points, but they will be told in weird memories like Ellana's dream. In this fic, Dorian and Bull are domestic partners, Josephine is dating a man who fights crime under a name that is not his own (hmmmm... who could that be....) and Cassandra is married. To someone. Who I'll reveal at some point in the future.  
> I hope you enjoy it! I'm trying to write this so Cassandra and Ellana become best friends, and Dorian gets along better with Solas (mostly because that's how my most recent playthrough went) but rest assured, Ellana and Dorian will geek OUT over horrific orlesian fashions. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed! And I wanted to give a huge THANK YOU! to everyone who has commented or left kudos- it's really inspiring, and it makes me feel way better about posting this story! 
> 
> You can find me and send me prompts at inquiisitorlavellan.tumblr.com!


	5. In Which Solas Does NOT Find Ellana Enticing, No Matter How Well She Makes Frilly Cakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isn't the way to a man's heart through his stomach? I wonder if that applies to wolves.

Ellana was startled from her nap by a loud banging on her door. Groaning audibly, she shouted for Merrill to _please_ stop with the banging, as she was _coming_ already.

As she opened the door, Ellana was greeted by Merrill’s grinning face. It was a grin so wide it sent her vallaslin into a jumbled mess, causing Ellana to raise an eyebrow.

“Aren’t you _excited?_ Our new roommate’s arriving today!” she practically squealed. Ellana flinched at the higher-than-normal-pitch.

“Seeing as how our _last_ roommate ended up, forgive me for not being totally excited for a man trying to escape murder.” Her eyebrows were raised incredulously at Merrill’s excitement. She knew they didn’t get out _that_ much, but Ellana wasn’t sure if a new roommate warranted such enthusiasm from the woman. Merrill smacked her arm.

“We _have_ to be happy! Solas is one of the smartest men in all of Thedas, if Abelas is to be believed! I’m _excited!_ ” At this, Ellana finally rolled her eyes. Abelas was one of the four “wonder-kids” that Skyhold Associates took on every year and transformed into lawyers. She hadn’t met him, but from the way Merrill spoke about him, he hung the very moon. Merrill and Josie spent a lot of time together, but of late Merrill had focused on befriending the students and left Ellana to entertain Josephine. She was absolutely fine with this, because Josie was like a much sweeter, understanding version of Vivienne. She had the _eye_ for fashion, and their conversations were _wonderful_. She was excited to meet Josie’s best friend, Leliana, who apparently could spend years talking about shoes and where _not_ to wear them.

Unfortunately, this gave Merrill and Ellana scarce time to talk, and they hadn’t been able to discuss their new housemate at all. Merrill at least had been introduced to Solas on occasion, due to her spending so much time with his co-workers. From Ellana’s impression, he seemed old, and weirdly antiquated. She wasn’t pleased that they would be living with someone who was (she assumed) elderly and unattractive (because really, nobody could be as successful as him at a young age, and if he was old _and_ unmarried, _something_ must be wrong), but she supposed the situation could be worse—except, of course, that someone was trying to kill him.

After Cassandra had found Ellana on the porch of Skyhold Associates that fateful Thursday night, she had offered her a ride home with her and her husband. Ellana was surprised that the _police chief_ was married to a _reporter_ (and really, she was so _tall_ , even for a shemlen, and he was a _dwarf_ but she supposed love always found a way), but took it in stride, and after dropping Ellana off at home, Cassandra had asked to meet for coffee the next day.

Ellana, drunk and intrigued by the woman, accepted happily. They had spent hours the next day discussing anything and everything about their lives (Ellana had learned that Cassandra was a closet romantic to a point of ridiculous adorableness who blackmailed her husband to write smutty literature) and eventually about Ellana’s scholarship. Cassandra was a close friend of the Dean of Ellana’s school, Justinia Divine, and had been very curious to find that the Herald of Andraste herself was not Andrastian at all but, but a _Dalish Elf_. Ellana laughed and explained her situation, then showed Cassandra some pictures of her designs and completed commissions. At the sight of an Orlesian ball gown, Cassandra let out a dreamy sigh and said that she fully understood why Ellana had been awarded with the scholarship.

Ellana _really_ liked Cassandra.

This meant, of course, when the woman had called a few days later to tell her the story of the exploding apartment, Ellana was quick to reassure her.

“I mean, we _do_ need a new housemate, and if he’s really in such a spot, I don’t see how letting him stay with us would be a problem. As long as he isn’t dangerous…?” Ellana was cautious about letting in a new housemate (especially one that she had never _met_ ) but she knew Cassandra wouldn’t ask if the situation was not dire. She laughed at the thought, because weeks earlier when she had wished for more excitement in her life, _this_ was far from her imaginings. She supposed life could be worse and they could be harboring a criminal, but really, if somebody tried to blow up their house she would be _really_ irritated. The apartment was small, but it was still _home_.

It really was dumb luck that he would be arriving a week before rent was due. Ellana had taken on a few extra commissions to cover Isabella’s portion, but her time to work was limited by school and socializing, neither things she was willing to sacrifice. This had led to her spending most every night up until the wee hours of morning, slaving away on her sewing machine. It hadn’t put her in the best mood.

Merrill ended up poking her out of her reverie, excitedly jumping up and down and pondering if they should bake a “welcome home, sort of” present for the man. At the prospect of Merrill baking, Ellana woke up fully.

“If you think I’m letting you _anywhere_ near an oven in the next lifetime, you have another thing coming. I still remember that time you tried to bake for my birthday—I don’t think we ever managed to get cake off the ceiling in Val Royeaux.” Shuddering at the memory, Ellana headed down the stairs.

“Come on! It wasn’t _so_ bad, and it was my first time baking red velvet!” Merrill called after her, giggling at the memory. Ellana recalled it with a different feeling.

“You forgot to buy half the ingredients and the batter had the consistency of raw meat!” When the cake was finally served, it had been so thick Ellana could barely stomach half a piece. She still referred to it as the “flesh cake” incident. Another shudder wracked her body.

As she walked through the living room, Ellana noticed the apartment had taken on a shockingly _sparkly_ value. She glanced back at Merrill. The girl might not know how to cook, but she was quite efficient when it came to cleaning. Ellana almost argued that baking would surely ruin the newfound prettiness of the clean apartment (because no matter how hard she tried, flour got _everywhere_ ), but the set in Merrill’s grin stopped her. She realized that the woman would clean after her no matter how large the mess, and sighed as she grabbed an apron.

Almost as a second thought, she shrugged off her wolf pelt and threw it on the couch behind her—she hadn’t the first clue about how to clean it, and Ellana suspected even Merrill would be at a loss. The thought of cleaning baking products out of a fur was disconcerting enough, and the risk of the pelt shedding into the food was too much to bear. Ellana finally smiled as she tied the apron behind her back.

“What shall we make, then? He’s a lawyer, so I doubt he’ll like anything too sweet. How about tea cakes?” Ellana watched as Merrill’s brow furrowed. The Dalish woman had an incorrigible sweet tooth and _hated_ the unsweetened tea cakes Ellana specialized in making.

“Why not try something Orlesian? Remember those frilly cakes I loved from Val Royeaux?” Merrill asked, eyes becoming hopeful, “It is a _celebration_ , after all! We can serve them with tea and everyone would be happy!” A smile was once again stretching across her face, and Ellana knew she had lost. She retrieved the horrifically _pink_ Orlesian cook book Merrill had gifted her before they left Val Royeaux and thumbed the pages until she reached the one with the desired recipe.

She groaned at the intense sugar requirement and set to work, wondering if their new housemate would object to the cloying sweetness that paired with the cakes. Ellana hoped he wouldn’t hate them _too_ much and resolved to make small sandwiches to offset the sweetness while the cakes baked. She set the oven to pre-heat and began her preparations.

 

**

The cakes were still cooling when there was a loud knocking on their door. Ellana sent Merrill out, trying to wipe icing off of her fingers and become presentable. She was a mess, covered in sticky icing and flour. With dread, she realized that she couldn’t _fully_ get clean before she would be forced to meet the new roommate. Knowing this, she threw caution to the wind and decided to ice the cakes. If she couldn’t look nice, she could damn well finish her job.

Ellana heard Merrill making conversation with the people in the living room (she distinctly heard Dorian’s laugh and smiled, knowing that the Tevinter man would be excited at the prospect of food), trying to catch a snippet of the stranger’s voice, hearing only Merrill’s excited chatter.

From what she could tell, the new housemate had brought very little to move in with. She heard the group leave the house only once to gather the stranger’s possessions—something she supposed wasn’t surprising given the fact that his apartment had, well, exploded. She finished up with the cakes and washed her hands while they were still outside, grabbing the pot of tea and platter of sandwiches and placing them on the coffee table in the living room. She was just moving to hang up her pelt when the door opened. She smiled and turned, ready to greet her new roommate but then—

It was him.

It was the ridiculous, stupidly attractive beautiful perfect _mmm_ _please_ man. He was once again wearing a sweater, and his eyes met hers with shock.

Ellana was sure she didn’t make the prettiest picture, wearing leggings and an oversized t-shirt with an apron wrapped tightly around her waist, her hair messily slopped together in a bun and flour all over her body. Her mouth was frozen in a shocked ‘O’ as his eyes met hers, horror dawning in his gaze. He recognized her.

She recognized him.

 Shit.

**

Solas was not having the best of days. He had met Merrill on two occasions, and on both he had tried to avoid her as much as possible. She was _dalish_ after all, and if he were to be honest, her only redeeming factor was her thirst for knowledge of the ancient Elves. Solas figured he could live with her, if their interactions were limited to small doses. He had assumed her roommate, Ellana, was a city elf. It was rare, after all, for Dalish to leave their reservations, let alone live in such large cities such as Denerim.

He was holding a box of books retrieved from his storage unit as he walked over the threshold into his (for now, at least) new home. His gaze was drawn from the floor at the sound of a small gasp. He looked up and met the gaze of—

The stripper.

No, _not_ a stripper, according to Cassandra’s irritated note, but someone else, presumably a guest at his party. She looked different now, swathed in a shirt far too large on her, hair messily gathered into a bun. By the look of her, she had been the source of the shockingly tantalizing smells emerging from their kitchen. Her apron was cinched around her waist, revealing a hint of the provocative curves her body held. Solas did not like the stirring in his chest at the sight of her. She was weirdly beautiful, even disheveled in her appearance.

He clamped down on those feelings. It was _not_ appropriate for him to develop feelings for this girl, a _Dalish_ , and his _housemate._

Her eyes were fixed on his, and her hands were wrapped around a pelt of some sort, clutched to her body like a comfort-blanket.

She finally looked down, her face flushing. The redness clashed with her olive green vallaslin and freckles, bringing both to stark attention on her face. He hated how appealing he found it.

Very appealing.

She made her way to the coat rack next to her door and hung up the pelt, then stepped towards him. As her eyes met his again, there was something _in_ them. Confusion, maybe, but it was paired with something darker. Something that made him want to both step back and forward. Shaking his head slightly, he found his voice.

“My name is Solas, if there are to be introductions. I am pleased to see you—”

“Still live?” she interrupted, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. She blinked, as if the words that had escaped her mouth were not of her own volition, and took a step back from him. A small shake of her head, and her eyes met his once more. “Sorry, that—I think that was déjà vu? We’ve spoken before, haven’t we?” He frowned now, confused by the conversation.

“We have, but it was for only a few moments, and I was…” Solas’ lips twisted, “…mixed up at the time. I would like to apologize for my rudeness. It was inappropriate and unwarranted. I hope I could ask for forgiveness?” Solas didn’t feel _that_ sorry, but with her strange behavior, he thought caution was appropriate. He was surprised when a broad smile broke across her face. It almost lit up the room.

“Of course! It was as much my fault as your own. I had not realized the type of party it was, and, oh, you’re holding books and I’m in your way, aren’t I…” She hurried to move to the side, out of his path. She was flushed again and despite his best efforts, a smirk played on his lips.

Perhaps he _could_ live here.

**

Ellana didn’t expect Mr. Jawline to live with her. In fact, she had not expected to ever meet him again. Or see him in a wonderfully tight cream colored sweater. Or to see his small smile.

_Creators_. It was at times like this she was abundantly thankful for her gender. If she were a man, it would be quite obvious how she felt about Solas, and _that_ would make for an awkward first (second?) impression indeed. He really was gorgeous though. Irritatingly so. Ellana had worked with the best and the beautiful of Orlais, models, and the (presumably) most attractive elves in the country. She was almost angry that the man casually walking past her towards the staircase had never modeled (and she would _know_ if he did), arms showing no strain at the box of large tomes. Ellana knew she would be getting sick often for the duration of his stay.

That _was_ what happened when one took frequent cold showers, wasn’t it?

Merrill and Dorian made their way inside next, both sporting smaller boxes than the one Solas had taken upstairs. Ellana accepted a kiss on the cheek from the man but snagged Merrill’s arm before she headed upstairs.

“Merrill, a word?” She whispered frantically, pulling the woman into the kitchen. Merrill was looking at her with surprise, and obviously had no idea what had gotten Ellana into such a tizzy.

Ellana fixed her with a look of panic and practically wailed, “It’s _him, Mer!_ It’s my _Mr. Jawline!_ It’s the _neo-Adonis_ man!” Merrill was looking at her, perplexed. Ellana placed both hands on her shoulders and shook. “Merrill. It’s the man from the party. The one I want to marry. That was _Solas_ , and now I have to _live with him!_ ” At this, Merrill’s expression dawned into one of understanding.

Then, mischief.

Ellana always hated when Merrill got that look in her eye. It meant they would soon be sneaking into a dig site (Josephine had gotten them out of that one), or switching the keeper’s shampoo with corn syrup (Marethari had never quite forgiven Merrill for that). Merrill had even once convinced Ellana to wear _paisley_. The thought still made her flinch.

“Perhaps this is good? It’s been quite a while for you, Ell. Maybe you need some _lawyering u—”_ Ellana slapped Merrill’s shoulder before she could finish the sentence, flushed crimson.

“You’re just as bad as Dorian and I hate you. Help me bring out the cakes.” Merrill laughed and grabbed the platter of sweets, inhaling deeply as she did so. Ellana’s eyes rolled.

As she went back into the living room to begin making up plates of food, she was greeted to the sight of Solas and Dorian sitting side-to-side on the couch. Solas was tall, even sitting; he matched Dorian’s height with ease… Ellana had to forcibly stop herself from drooling.

As she made to hand him a sandwich, Ellana noticed his eyes practically burning a hole into the platter of frilly cakes. She raised an eyebrow and glanced at Dorian, who chuckled.

“Might as well hand that to me, my dear. He knows what he wants.”

“Oh, I’m sure he does!” Merrill giggled, earning a kick from her roommate. It was now Dorian’s turn to raise his eyebrows. Merrill typed out a message on her cellular and sent it off, making Dorian’s phone buzz suspiciously. Ellana’s heart _sank_. He read it quickly, eyebrows raising to his hairline and a grin slowly spreading on his face.

“ _Ah_.”

Solas hardly noticed what was going on around him as he sank his teeth into one of the cakes. It was light and sweet, with a dense, creamy icing. The balance was phenomenal—he wondered where she had learned to bake like that. It was better than any of the cakes from a Ferelden patisserie.

His eyes darted back to Ellana, her face once more a most becoming shade of red.

Perhaps he could manage living here after all.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I've just re-uploaded all of the chapters, because I am a moron who has been spelling Merrill's name wrong for the entire fic. LOVELY.   
> Solas' first line of the game still gives me chills- and when Ellana interrupts him, it's kind of a faded memory from her past. I'm still not totally sure what direction all of the past inquisition/ veil tearing is going to play into the plot, but it would be great if y'all could tell me if you like the direction it's going in!
> 
> The infamous flesh-cake incident happened between me and two of my closest friends in high school- we weren't using flower because one of them is gluten free, but we had also refrained from getting the right kind of vinegar and food coloring and probably other things, and the cake tasted terrible. Gluten-Free friend liked it, I just ate the icing. Still a favorite memory, though. 
> 
> For this chapter, I did my best to find a size-chart for the inquisition characters. Solas is a bit taller than Cassandra, and is equal with Dorian. I like to believe that in Trespasser the reason he seems taller is not just due to his glorious thigh hugging armor, but also Solas allowing himself to look more Elvhen than before. In Trespasser he just seems BIGGER to me. And yes, Cass and Varric are together. Because Bianca is a bit of a bitch and Varric deserves a woman who will love him with all of herself, and Cassandra is very much so an all or nothing girl. 
> 
> Merrill is spending a lot of time with Abelas, they might get together but I doubt Abelas could date anyone other than himself. Ellana did NOT meet Cole at the party because he wasn't there (probably taking care of some drowned kittens or something of the like) and that is why she did not know him in her dream. 
> 
> Also, paisley is just the worst thing EVER and never having to use that for a costume again will be too soon. It's just GROSS ok?
> 
> Thank you to all you lovely people who have left comments and kudos, getting that notification truly warms my heart. You guys are the BEST.


	6. In Which Bad Things Happen and Solas Is Revealed To Not Be a Total Ass

Solas’ first day living with Merrill and Ellana was surprisingly normal. He spent time in the living room doing paperwork, Merrill joined him, writing her research thesis, and Ellana returned to her room to finish her current school project. It was a corseted gown, Orlesian in fashion with some small, signature dalish tweaks, that Morrigan had assigned her. Well, sort of assigned.

Ok, she mostly just handed Ellana fabric and told her to make something “attractive” for once. Ellana had glared and set off to make the most garish, obnoxious gown possible. Full of lace and metal, the dress would be _most_ uncomfortable to wear, but probably something that Morrigan would like.

It was also purple.

She _wasn’t_ sucking up.

As Ellana hammered the eyelets into the front corset, she thought of Solas. And his mouth.

Mostly his mouth.

He had let out a deep groan upon biting into one of her small cakes, and the sound had gone straight to her groin. Her face had turned even redder than before, if possible, and her gaze was drawn to his lips. They were _really nice lips_. He had a perfect cupids bow, and his lower lip was full and pink. She wanted to lick it. When he groaned, they had parted and she caught a flash of white teeth and a pink tongue. Ellana couldn’t stop thinking about it.

She wondered if he would taste sweet.

In her distraction, the hammer she had been using to pound eyelets through fabric missed by a mile and instead smashed into her right thumb, eliciting a screech. She cursed and glanced down, assessing the damage.

“ _Fenedhis lasa!”_ Ellana quickly moved her thumb off the silk, cradling it to her chest. It was gushing blood where the hammer had forced her nail into flesh. She was pretty sure nails weren’t supposed to _do_ that. Unfortunately, her medical knowledge was stoutly lacking, and Merrill’s healing magic had always been shit. The last time Ellana herself had tried to heal a wound, it had somehow inverted itself and explaining _that_ to Deshanna had not been fun. Neither had the healing.

She quickly wrapped her thumb in her shirt, frowning in dismay as the fabric immediately stained red. Shit, shit, _shit._

She stumbled down the stairs, beginning to really _feel_ the pain from her hand, and called out to Merrill with tears pricking at her eyes.

“Mer, could you drive me to the hospital? I had a bit of an accident.” Merrill was on her feet instantly, and Solas looked up in interest. As Ellana unwrapped her hand, Merrill sucked in a breath.

“ _Creators_ , Ellana! I didn’t know thumbs could _do_ that!” Her face was twisted with revulsion. Ellana bit back the urge to snap.

“That’s because they aren’t _supposed_ to. Please, hospital.” It was at that point Solas strode over to her and took her hand in his. Ellana pointedly ignored the spark of electricity that ran through her at his touch.

“I do not think the hospital will be necessary.” He stated, glancing up from her hand to meet her eyes. A tear had slipped down her face, and he absent mindedly wiped it from her cheek with his free hand. If she wasn’t practically seeing white from the pain, Ellana was sure she’d have imploded at the contact. Solas led her to the couch and indicated for her to sit down as he sat across from her. With a look of concentration, Solas placed his free hand over her injured one, and with a flash of blue, Ellana’s pain disappeared.

The silence was thick in the room.

Ellana, dumbfounded, broke it.

“You’re an _apostate?_ ” Her voice held incredulity and thankfulness. He looked at her, eyes cautious.

“I am. Is that a problem?” Ellana didn’t know quite what to say. Merrill, luckily, never ran out of words.

“Not at all! We both are as well! Oh, it’s so _exciting_! Now we can all gather and practice _spells!_ Could you help me with healing? Ellana’s terrible at it too. This is _wonderful!_ ” The woman was practically jumping up and down, but Ellana’s gaze was still drawn to Solas. His eyebrows had raised a fraction, giving him a look of slight surprise. Ellana wondered if he would maintain the look if she scooched forward into his lap, or if he would make another expression altogether.

 _No, Ellana._ Her mind yelled. There were boundaries, no matter how perfect your new roommate was. No matter how well she would fit in his lap, snug like a puzzle piece…

His eyes found hers again and he released her hand. She snatched it back and examined it, embarrassed at being caught staring. Her thumb looked perfectly normal, save for the dried blood on her palm. She was amazed. Glancing back up at him, she flashed a grateful smile.

“I suppose this is giving you a terrible impression of me!” She laughed, “I promise I’m not usually this clumsy. I was distracted while sewing, and things got… out of hand.” Merrill rolled her eyes and supplicated.

“She’s lying. Ellana is the clumsiest girl I know. Has been since we met.” She glared at her roommate. It was _not_ true, because… actually.

It may be the tiniest bit true.

Ellana thanked Solas again and headed back up to her room, ignoring Merrill’s shouted offer for an extra set of eyes. Somehow, she didn’t think the dalish woman was referring to herself.

As she got back to work, Ellana pointedly did _not_ think about Solas. Or his lovely, lovely hands.

Finishing the dress took far longer than it should have.

 

**

Weeks passed without incident, save for one occasion when Ellana had left very early in the morning to grab coffee before class. There was a strange _twang_ sound, and then a dull _thunk_.

It took Ellana a few seconds to register what had happened. Slowly, she pivoted until she was facing her front door. There, embedded in the wood, was an arrow.

A fucking _arrow._

She stormed back into her house, yelling for Solas to _please come down right now because someone left a “message” for him!_

Ellana was still muttering about “fucking weird phychos who still live in the dragon age apparently” when Solas stepped down the stairs and she barely registered how attractive he looked (truly a feat for her), sleep rumpled in a large sweater and sweatpants, as she shoved the arrow into his hands.

“If he’s going to threaten you, please make sure he doesn’t _damage my property_ next time, alright?” She had snapped and stalked out the door. Solas reminded himself to not talk to Ellana before her morning coffee.

Within the next few days, a large cardboard sign hung on their door. It read, simply, NO ARROWS IN THE RENT CONTROLLED AREA.

She wasn’t greeted again with a morning surprise.

**

Everything changed in one night, when Ellana was gripped by dreams again.

She was in a cell, hands bound by heavy iron cuffs. Her knees ached, and she was surrounded by swords pointed at her face.

It was not a very comforting feeling. A shadowy figure strode into the cell she was in, and the swords were withdrawn. The voice that came from the figure was warped and indistinct. Ellana couldn’t judge the gender or nationality of the speaker, but something in its voice was familiar.

“Tell me why we shouldn’t kill you now.” It said, leaning in close to her face. She could see though the figure, slightly. It was almost as if it were made of smoke. “The conclave is destroyed. Everyone who attended is _dead_ , except for _you._ ” Ellana remained silent, curious of the nature of the dream.

The figure grabbed her left hand and shook it in front of her face. “Explain _this_.” It said.

Ellana gazed at her hand in confusion, and suddenly it burst into light. A jagged scar ran down her palm, bursting with magic. It was green, the same color she thought spirits should be. The same color that had enveloped the sky in her previous dream. And it _hurt_. Ellana decided she didn’t like this dream.

“I-” she paused, thinking, “I can’t.” the shadow figure strode around her, towering imposingly.

“What do you _mean_ , you _can’t_!?” it exclaimed. Ellana was at a loss, because _truly_ this dream made no sense.

“I don’t know what _that_ is or _how_ it got there—” she started, only to be interrupted.

“You’re _lying_.” The figure snapped, moving to strike her. Ellana flinched back. It was at that moment she noticed the second figure. It held the first back, and the scene morphed.

Ellana was now standing, being led to the door by the original figure.

“What _did_ happen?” she asked, desperate for some sort of clarity. The figure paused in its movement, and its shoulders drooped. When it spoke, the voice was resigned.

“It would be easier to show you.” And opened the door.

The sky was _wrong._ A huge rupture was present where there should only be clouds. It was the same sickly green as her hand, and as she stared the mark _flared_ , shooting pain up her arm.

“We call it ‘the breach.’ It’s a massive rift into the world of demons that grows larger with every passing hour. It’s not the only such rift, just the largest. All were caused by the explosion at the conclave.” Ellana was amazed.

“An explosion can _do_ that?”

“This one did.” The figure shifted towards her. “Unless we act, the breach may grow until it swallows the world.” Almost on command, the breach sent out a tendril of green flame in the distance. The mark on Ellana’s hand _pulsed_ and suddenly it felt as if her blood was boiling. She let out a cry of pain and fell to her knees. The figure now crowded towards her face, a hand pointing towards the sky.

“Each time the breach expands, your mark spreads… and it is killing you. It may be the key to stopping this, but there isn’t much time.” Ellana looked at the shadow, helpless. Her dreams had never been so out of her control before. She certainly never remembered having such _pain_.

“I will help, if I can.” She got out. At her words, the scenery around her morphed once more.

Ellana noted that she was now in a huge crater. Bodies, some charred and others freshly killed surrounded her. She looked up and her eyes _met_ the breach.

“Now! Seal the rift! _Do it_!” the shadow figure yelled, and her hand slowly raised above her head. Something within her _pulled_ , and suddenly a tendril of green magic connected the rift and her palm. Ellana could only think that her very _essence_ was being pulled out of her before her vision went black.

**

She woke screaming.

Something was trapping her arms to her sides, confining her, _hurting her_ , and she screamed and screamed, and her voice caught in her throat but she screamed _again_ because her _hand_ _oh creators her hand was burning_ and _aching_ and she vaguely heard her door slam open and registered a pair of hands ripping her blanket away from where it had trapped her arms, and then Merrill was there too, panicked and asking _what happened_ and _why was Ellana screaming_ and Ellana couldn’t bear the pain and terror that was coupled in her mind and her screams tapered off, leaving her gasping and sobbing, hand burning.

She clutched at the person in front of her— _Solas,_ her mind supplied—and cried harder, still feeling as if her arm was on fire. She buried her face in his neck and refused to look at her hand, terrified of what she would find. His arms hesitantly circled her as Merrill fluttered around, both unsure of what was happening. Dimly, Ellana thought that _this_ was certainly not how she had imagined getting Solas in bed.

Merrill paused in her anxious pacing and squinted at Ellana’s left hand. She was still sobbing into Solas’ shoulder, her arm thrown as far from her body as possible.

“Ellana, are you holding your phone?” Merrill asked, cautiously, hoping not to distress her best friend further. Ellana sniffled and extracted herself from Solas’ arms. Her voice was barely audible as she whispered, through tears, “…no?”

Upon hearing the pure _terror_ in Ellana’s small voice, Solas and Merrill exchanged a worried look. Solas tucked the petite woman back into his arms, seeing no better way to comfort her. He remembered that the Dalish were very physically affectionate people, and understood that this was the best way to help. Her body, previously wracked with wretched sobs, was now stiff. Solas didn’t like the sudden change in her posture, and rubbed soothing circles into her back. He tried not to think about how well she fit in his arms.

But Ellana wouldn’t relax. From Solas’ arms, she looked at Merrill, face full of dread. “Why, Merrill? Why did you ask me that?” Merrill looked at her anxiously, still shaken by her more than odd behavior.

“Because you’re holding some kind of light. I just figured it was your phone. Did you watch a scary movie or something?” At her words, Ellana’s face went blank.

“No.” she said, quietly at first, then raising into a shriek. “No, no no, no _no. No!_ ” She scrambled off of the bed, out of her sheets, until she was pressed with her back against the wall. She held her left hand as from her body as possible, and Solas got his first look at her clenched fist. _Something_ within it was certainly glowing.

Tears had once again begun streaming from her eyes, and neither of her roommates could comprehend what was happening. Rationally, Ellana knew she would have to explain herself, explain why the _thought_ of what was happening, or what she suspected, was making her lose any semblance of control, and _why_ she was holding her hand as far away from her body as possible.

She refused to look.

As suddenly as her screaming had stopped, Ellana was bolting out of her room. Solas and Merril gave each other helpless looks before sprinting after her, worried for her mental stability. She hadn’t exactly been the picture of stability in the past few minutes.

By the time they reached the kitchen, Ellana had the knives out. It was Solas who acted first, shouting a curse and snatching the butchers knife out of her hand. He pressed her body against the counter with his own and grabbed her right with his free hand.

“ _Fenedhis, Ellana!_ What in the _void_ are you _doing!?_ ” She looked at him, eyes showing pain and something akin to panic. His cursing didn’t even register.

“It’s happening. My dream was real, and it _hurts_ and I think I have to take it off like I did in the first because it’s _killing_ me and what can I _do_?” Ellana’s words were jumbled, falling from her lips in a rushed sentence. Solas caught her meaning.

“Ellana, you just had a _dream_. You’re holding on to a night light or something, and it’s frightening you. If you’d just unclench your hand, you would see that.” Solas’ deep timbre helped Ellana calm, her heart slowing its dramatic pace. Merril was quietly removing all sharp objects from the vicinity.

Solas leaned back when the area was safe, allowing her body to move a bit. He still held her right wrist, but not uncomfortably tight, as he had before. She had the grace to blush, as he was shirtless and she wore nothing but a tank top and panties. Ellana had almost begun to believe his words when feeling returned to her hand.

A flash of light filled the room. It was green, and its origin was not clear. Solas flinched at the sudden luminescence, and Ellana fell to her knees, gasping. Merrill crouched by her side, gripping her left hand.

“The flash must’ve gone off, right Ell? Open your hand. I think you’ve got a camera.”

Ellana knew what was in her hand already. She _knew_ and she couldn’t explain it, didn’t _want_ to think about it, and her hand hurt too much for coherence, anyway.

She merely looked at the floor, trying to hold back tears. Once again, Solas made the first move. His hands gently drew hers from Merrill’s grip. He slowly teased her fingers from their clenched position, waiting for the source of her distress to become apparent. It did.

Ellana had closed her eyes. “There’s nothing there, is there.” Solas looked at her, uncomprehending.

“Why is your hand glowing, Ellana?” he asked, shocked at her sudden propensity towards magic. From his impressions, she used it only in dire situations (like retrieving things from high shelves), and its color was typically a fierce orange, not unlike her hair. This magic was a bright, neon green. She let out a short laugh.

“It’s not _my_ magic. It’s _painful_.” Merrill mouthed that she was calling Dorian, and walked out of the kitchen. Solas had a feeling nobody would be getting any sleep that night.

“How do you know it is not yours, Ellana?” He prodded. Usually, when he poked at her, he would receive a snapped reply. She had a short temper, but was always quick to cool down and apologize. He didn’t expect the sniffle she let out. Her face turned back to his, shining with fresh tears.

“Because it feels like somebody has dipped my arm in boiling oil, Solas. If this was my own doing, I would stop it.” He sighed and picked at her palm. The magic felt familiar, like it resonated with him. It wasn’t _his_ though, it couldn’t be. For many reasons, chiefly that his own magic was blue in color. He knew it was a weak argument.

**

As the next few hours passed, Dorian, Josephine, Cassandra and even Cullen came over to inspect Ellana’s hand.

Dorian couldn’t identify the magic, nor its purpose. Josephine sat and talked in low tones with Cassandra, both casting frequent looks of worry in Ellana’s direction. Cullen, the detective assigned to Solas’ case, questioned her, asking where exactly she had been that day, if she had spoken to anyone unfamiliar. She noted that yes, there was some older Tevene man who had pulled her aside after class, but he only asked for directions and left as soon as advice was given. Cullen focused on this, as did Solas.

“Could you describe him?” Cullen prodded, pulling out a small notepad.

Ellana noted that it looked like he may have some sort of skin disease, causing his face to sag on one side. His clothes were finely tailored, but hung off of his body as if he were nothing but a skeleton beneath them. Cullen took notes, and Solas finally interrupted her.

“Ellana, did he give you anything?” She looked at him, finally realizing his arm had curled around her while Cullen asked his questions. She allowed herself to relax into his side, noting the way he tensed at the added contact before easing and tracing a thumb down her palm. It still hurt, but it was more of a dull throbbing at this point, rather than the sharp ache that had previously enveloped her arm.

“The only thing he did was shake my hand in thanks. He left, after that.” She said, trying to recall if he had given her his name. Cullen looked up sharply.

“Which hand did he shake?” At this, Ellana met his eyes, comprehending his question.

“…My left.”

Cullen called in a sketch artist.

**

It was unanimously decided that Ellana would have to remain by Solas’ side as much as possible. Partly because he was under police protection 24/7, but also because he seemed to be the only one with good enough healing magic to ease the agony in her hand. The mark flared up occasionally causing Ellana intense pain—Solas stayed close to take it on such occasions.

It got to a point where he would take her to work with him. She would remain in the main room of Skyhold Associates, sitting by the hearth reading a book, and every few hours Solas would come from his office and tend to her hand, offering words of comfort before returning to his work.

It was on one such day that the four lawyers-in-training finally met Ellana.

Met was really a relative term, because Sera had bounced into the living room with news for the girl, only to find her sound asleep on the couch. Ellana’s head had fallen to rest on her shoulder, chest rising and falling gently. This was _not_ what had shocked the elf into silence, though—it was Ellana’s companion. Solas was resting next to her, one arm casually falling over Ellana’s shoulder, the other loosely holding her left hand. Her body was leaning into his, and his eyes were closed.

Sera sniggered upon the realization that he was _sleeping_. Sleeping and _snuggling_ on the _bloody couch,_ at _bloody_ _work_. Sneaking forward, she wondered what she could do to make their saccharine little situation into a brilliant prank when inspiration struck. She had just started to shift the hand over Ellana’s shoulder when the girl stirred. Sera jumped back, knowing her friend would be pissed (after she finished blushing at her compromising position) when she realized what Sera was attempting. Sera nearly guffawed in glee at what happened in its place.

Instead of waking, Ellana _shifted._ Shifted to draw her feet up onto the couch and snuggle directly into Solas’ lap. Solas, still asleep, merely settled his arms around her waist, letting out a small huff, and shifted his head to make room her own on his collarbone. They were now splayed over the couch, and Sera drew out her phone.

Several minutes of pictures and a video later, Sera ventured back into the main office where she and her peers tended to reside. Still remaining quiet, she beckoned them into the living room. They were intrigued by her silence, something so rare that whatever had caused it _must_ be monumental, and followed. Sera was the only one who had met Ellana, but they were all aware of her presence in the office.

Upon the sight of their _boss_ (a man who rarely showed any emotion let alone _affection_ and maintained as professional a manner as possible) cuddled up on the couch with the younger woman, the students’ reactions varied.

Abelas let out a scoff of incredulity. He and Solas got along well, both preferring to keep work at _work_ and everything _else_ at home. He had always seen his boss as a cool and aloof man, not someone who would _snuggle_ at work.

Cole was beaming. He whispered something about “warm,” and “happy,” and “safe”, and leaned against the door frame with a wide smile. He and Solas were close, the man acting like a father figure in his life. He was semi-aware of Cole’s spirit like tendencies, but mostly respected the boy for his fervent desire to help people. Solas thought it was a commendable notion.

Lace delighted in seeing her boss’ mask slip. His face was peaceful, an almost smile curving his lips. The dwarf was far too used to his neutral mask, and seeing him defenseless and _happy_ was a shock. She made sure to take a few pictures of her own, grinning all the while. She sent messages to both Dorian and Josephine, knowing they would want to see this.

Sera was laughing silently, pleased beyond belief at her luck. This was the most perfect blackmail materiel _ever_ , and next time Solas tried to get her to work on a case for yet _another_ stuffy rich person, she could shove this in his face till the case was given to someone else. She was just plotting what she would make Solas do to make her delete the pictures when Ellana’s mark flared.

None of them expected her reaction. They had heard it gave her pain, but nothing like what warranted her to jump from Solas’ arms with a yelp, grasping her glowing hand. Her body curled into itself, and she was weeping, with huge, gasping breaths. Solas was soon moving to grasp her hand, trying to let his soothing words be heard over her sobs. He sent a sharp look towards the door, and the four of them scattered. Sera only just caught the blue flash of his magic before she escaped to the kitchen.

Thirty minutes later, the students had once more gathered into their room, careful to avoid their boss and his charge. There was a distinct sound of heavy footsteps and then the front door slamming open, revealing Dorian, out of breath and looking slightly disheveled (another new sight for the students), who shouted “DID I MISS IT” and visibly drooped when he received an affirmative answer.

Sera gave him an impish grin and help up her phone.

“I got a video.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i think this is slightly longer? 
> 
> So I re-uploaded this with a few edits, it should read better now!
> 
> Fenhedhis Lasa literally means 'go fuck a wolf' so it's my new favorite curse. Fenhedhis is basically the elvhen term for "fuck" or "shit". Not going to lie, when I was writing this chapter in the cafe in my college library, I had to google "Solas Lips" to write an accurate description. Lets just say some of the looks I got were funny. 
> 
> When Josephine received the picture from Lace she saved it and filed it away in her "things to show Leliana and Cassandra" folder. 
> 
> At this point in time, Ellana has already been introduced to Leliana. She'll be in the next chapter! Along with Blackwall, Krem, and more Bull :)


	7. In Which Lavellan Dreams, and Solas Struggles with Himself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> chapter is slightly NSFW! Very very fluffy as well. :)

This time, when Ellana woke, the world was red.

She was in another castle. This one was different from the first, as if the air itself was singing in dissonant verses, giving the entire area around her a sense of _wrongness_. She did not like it here.

As Ellana sat up, she realized there was another difference in this dream—she was not in a bed this time, nor a cell, but the hard stone floor of a throne room. The very air was hazy with _evil_ , and a sort of red rock protruded from every surface around her. If she didn’t know better, Ellana would say it looked a bit like lyrium.

She did know better though, because lyrium itself was a rare commodity, and the most infamous drug on the black market. She had no idea how to get her hands on any, and if she could, she didn’t think the result would be beneficial. Lyrium took one’s magical power and _amplified_ it to incredible proportions, causing the user to have powers far stronger than any one person had any right to possess. It also left them with a crippling addiction that was nigh on impossible to sate.  She had heard the Templars, a chantry run organization meant to control the mages of Thedas, were given lyrium to boost powers of control, meant for reigning in unruly mages. Ellana also heard that often the Templars misused this power, and took it upon themselves to “control” any mage they came across. Ellana steered clear, being an apostate herself.

As she hoisted herself to her feet, Ellana’s gaze was drawn to a form next to her. It wasn’t _physical_ , per say, but more of a three dimensional shadow. It was similar to the figure from her most recent nightmare, but it almost seemed more solid. It was staring at her, as if expecting an answer to a question she hadn’t heard.

Ellana knew of the existence of spirits. She wasn’t afraid of them, but had never actually _met_ one, to the best of her knowledge. For some reason, Ellana had expected it to be green.

“He’s not a spirit, just a memory. Echoes of the past are doomed to repeat until the wrongs can be fixed, the fade wishing, wanting to correct his wrong, and you, glowing brighter, cast all of the faces into shadow.” Ellana whirled, spotting the boy from her first dream. He looked the same, still as gaunt as a corpse. She wondered if he ate.

“Who are you?” She asked, feeling brave enough to pose the question. She was aware of this being a dream, and if her imagination was strong enough to create illusions of things she had never seen before, Ellana figured it could support a two person conversation. The boy, as if he heard her thoughts, sighed.

 “I am Compassion. You should remember me, but he bent the fade and broke everyone’s thoughts. I am the only one who remembers, but you should too. I think… I think he tried to save you. But then he forgot.” Ellana’s brow furrowed, and the boy took a step towards her. “It would be better to show you, but this is where we must begin. Follow the memories.” And he vanished, leaving Ellana alone with the shadow (memory?) person.

It was that moment it chose to speak.

“If we can reverse the spell, it may be able to take us back to the present.” Ellana started. The voice was tevene in origin, and had the lilting richness that she had come to know so well in the past few weeks.

“… _Dorian?_ ” She asked, wondering why he was in her dream. The outline of the shadowed form snapped into clarity, revealing her friend. He looked younger, somehow, and was dressed in weirdly provocative clothes. His chest and upper arm were exposed to the air, while the rest of his body was hidden beneath armor and fabric that draped like high quality silk. Ellana stared, dumbfounded. She had only ever seen Dorian in the finest tailored suits, never anything so…

Well, so _costume-y_.

She stifled a laugh while taking note of the materials. Even if it did look like something one would find at a fan convention, it suited him perfectly. Ellana wondered if she should make it for him for All Hallows day. He would surely protest, but Ellana knew she could convince him. He could hardly pass up a custom made costume, after all.

The shadow, no, _Dorian_ began moving forward, towards a long hallway off to the side. Ellana took note that he didn’t respond to her question, but that was perhaps due to its obvious nature.

As they walked, Ellana realized they were passing by cells. _Jail_ cells, filled with more of the red stone. She wondered what kind of castle went from throne room to dungeon, but passed it off as weird dream mechanics. Things didn’t _have_ to make sense here. It wasn’t until Dorian stopped in front of a cell that Ellana noticed its occupant.

 _Cassandra_! Ellana rushed to the bars, noting the pallor of her friend’s usually rosy complexion, her typical tan gone and instead a sickly green lingering under her skin. Veins of red stood out starkly on her face, looking almost like a sick parody of Mythal’s vallaslin. Ellana’s heart sunk, hateful to see her friend look so ill, even in a dream.

Words, unbidden, began flowing around her.

“I failed you. I failed everyone,” Cassandra moaned, banging her fist into the floor. She lamented about the Maker, about her life’s meaning. She painted a picture of a world gone to the void, with demons and assassinations. Ellana was so _confused_ , because _none_ of that was happening and a _demon_ hadn’t been sighted in Thedas for over a century. She almost missed Cassandra’s last words due to being lost in thought.

“You’re here now, though. Let us make this right.” She had said, resting a hand gratefully on Ellana’s shoulder as she opened the cell door. The touch felt _wrong_ , like her hand was there but also was not. It was better described as a _memory_ of a touch, rather than the real thing. Ellana didn’t like thinking like that.

The three of them continued down the rows of cells. Ellana observed other inhabitants, some dead, some writhing on the ground in pain. One man sported a jagged crystal sprouting from his chest. His eyes were open and they followed the three as they passed. She shivered.

It was several feet away that she began to hear the muttering. The voice was deep and rich, like the best Orlesian chocolate, accented in a familiar tone. She would recognize _his_ voice anywhere.

 _Solas_.

Ellana rushed ahead of her companions, checking each cell until she reached his. Their eyes met and for one incredulous moment, Ellana didn’t feel like it was a dream at all. Her heart _wrenched_ at the sight of him, thinner than ever before and tinted with red. She threw open the door to his cell and was crushing him to her before any words could escape his lips.

Ellana didn’t know what led her to this action. She had rarely touched Solas of her own volition in reality, and while sure, she had a crush on him, the sight of him like this should not have brought her to tears. His body was frozen as she held him to her, resting her forehead in the space between his neck and shoulder. Solas twitched, then and spoke. His voice was broken, wretched, and Ellana wanted to kiss his breath away until he could talk properly. “You’re _alive_. We _saw you die_ ,” He moved then, surging forward and clutching her to him like a lifeline. He buried his face in her neck, inhaling, as if memorizing her scent. “It may not be too late! This world, it must never come to pass.”

Ellana was confused as he drew back, hands tracing the edges of her face as if he were committing it to memory. His eyes were filled with something she recognized, and with a pang, she realized it was _love_.

Pure, unadulterated love.

She had no idea how to react. Something that was her but also _not_ roared to life within, reciprocating the feeling with fervor. Ellana was confused, to say the least. Solas pulled her up with him, not breaking the contact between their bodies. A subtle throat clearing caused her to look away from Solas’ face.

Dorian and Cassandra were standing outside, with Leliana now in tow. Dorian looked amused at their antics, and explained that he and Cassandra had fetched the woman while Ellana was _distracted_. At this, even Leliana, looking half dead, smirked.

Dorian led the group back to the throne room, explaining their plan on the way. He and Ellana would cast their spell and return to the past (the present? Ellana had somehow puzzled out that her dream was in some sort of _future_ which was weirdly complicated for a dream but _whatever_ ). Cassandra, Leliana, and Solas would remain to protect them, as they didn’t belong in the past. If their plan worked, this entire timeline would be destroyed. It was a confusing prospect, but since the only danger they had encountered in the castle had been more red rocks, Ellana wasn’t too worried.

It was then that the shrieking began.

“It’s the Elder One,” Leliana said, resigned, “we will hold him off. I will protect you until my last arrow.” With this, a bow appeared on her back, and a quiver full of shadowed arrows to accompany it. Suddenly, Ellana noticed that _all_ her companions held weapons. Solas had a gorgeous sylvanwood staff, the top adorned with a skull. Cassandra was unslinging a shield from her back and drawing a sword. With horror, Ellana realized their intentions.

“You can’t expect me to let all of you sacrifice yourselves for me. Come with us, and be _alive_ ,” her voice turned pleading. Leliana gave her a hard look.

“We belong here. It is up to you to change the future and make sure _this_ never happens. It is up to you now, Herald. We will keep you safe.” The use of Ellana’s _scholarship_ title startled her. Sure, it was what _Varric_ called her, but he had nicknames for everyone. Leliana certainly didn’t seem the type to use it, especially in such a serious situation. She supposed that it _was_ a dream after all, and nothing _really_ had to make sense.

The first demon broke in to the room.

Ellana looked at the monster with horror. She had never seen something like it before- it was huge, and swathed in shadow. There was no place for eyes, only a gaping maw and clawed hands. She was terrified, and realized this couldn’t _just_ be a dream.

It was a _nightmare_.

As sudden as it had appeared, the monster was dead. An arrow was through its neck and it had sunk into the ground, leaving only dust. Ellana glanced to Leliana, who had another arrow at the ready. She looked at Solas and Cassandra, they nodded, and, to Ellana’s horror, strode to stand outside the huge oaken doors blocking the throne room from the rest of the building. Ellana realized they would die first.

“I _can’t let you die_!” she said, on the verge of tears. Cassandra looked at her with surprise, as if it was the only option. It was Solas who spoke.

“You _cannot_ stay here. You know that.” He turned from her with difficulty, making his way to the door and Ellana was _not having it._ She grabbed his arm and spun him around, giving him no time before her lips were pressed to his. If words could not convince him, perhaps a good shock would.

Her kiss was desperate, communicating her frustration with him for his willingness to throw his life away, her terror, and the unadulterated _love_ she realized she reciprocated. The kiss stole her breath, her hands wrapped in his armor, as if she could hold him back. In the first moments, he just froze, before returning the gesture, kissing her desperately, as if her lips could give him the air he needed to breathe. He tasted of raw power and pain and Ellana never wanted to stop, pressing herself against him with desperation, trying her best to keep him there, to keep him from his sacrifice. He drew away, breathing hard, and pressed his forehead to hers.

“ _Stay_.” She pleaded, hoping this last ditch effort would prove effective. He smiled and pressed his lips once more to hers.

“I _can’t_.” And he turned and walked through the door, Cassandra trailing behind him. The door shut and the sounds of battle became prominent.

Ellana, now in tears, felt the moment resonate in her heart, as if his words had been said before, as he walked away. The pain of that knowledge was shocking, and she stumbled to stand next to Dorian as he began casting his spell. Some part of her mind wondered if Dorian, in _reality_ , knew something about time magic. There was no way that could be true though.

Right?

Every minute passed in tense silence, the only noise coming from the other side of the door. As Dorian was nearly done, an enormous _crash_ rang through the room, and everyone’s gaze was drawn to the door. Ellana cried out as the bodies of Solas and Cassandra were flung through the door. They lay on the ground, still.

She fell to her knees and wailed.

“Andraste guide me,” Leliana ground out as she fired arrows, “Maker,” three demons fell, “guide me to your side.” She grunted at the effort of the fight, oblivious to Ellana’s sobbing. Dorian hauled her to her feet and pronounce that they had to _go_.

As the spell flashed black, Ellana saw Leliana fall.

She woke up.

**

The sight of his body was still fresh in her mind. Ellana didn’t want to blink for fear of the image burned into her eyelids. Nearly blind with tears, she stumbled out of bed.

The walk to her door was difficult. She felt as if her hand was made of lead, aching sharply. She had meant to leave and make a cup of tea, something to calm her nerves and let her process the dream, but her newfound pain was another story.

Her hand typically hurt the most when she was awake. She suspected Solas gave her an especially potent dose of healing before she ventured to bed each night, and the thought made her heard flip obnoxiously in her chest. Right.

Thinking of him stopped her at her doorframe. She recalled the emotions from her dream, the way he looked at her, the way he _loved_ her… and the way she loved him _back_. When Ellana had met him, falling in love had been far from her mind. Licking his collarbone? A totally viable thought. Fucking him until he let her back into the party on trembling legs? A favorite fantasy. Falling in love with him so deeply that even in _dreams_ she could feel it? That wasn’t in the books. Love itself was overwhelming, and she hardly had any experience with it, but that feeling is hard to mistake. She still couldn’t bear the thought of him dead, for _her_ , even if it was in a doomed timeline in a fucking nightmare. She was in love with her roommate, and she was well and truly screwed. Not literally, of course, because how could she ever be _that_ lucky?

Her feet carried her to his room. It was very late, or very early, and even Solas had to sleep at some point. She didn’t look forward to waking him, but Ellana knew sleep would elude her until the mark had been settled. She crept into his room, darker than she kept hers. Ellana had grown used to the light on her palm, and the blackness of Solas’ abode was startling.

As she made her way towards his bed, Ellana took a moment to drink in the look on his face. He seemed at peace, obviously warm and comfortable. His comforter had slipped down his torso, revealing that he was shirtless, and Ellana appreciated the view. As she got closer to him, the pain in her hand began to ease. She wondered if he exuded some sort of magical healing aura. Suddenly, a flash of his beaten, red tinged body filled her eyes.

She shuddered, breaking out of her trance. Bracing a knee on his bed, Ellana placed her marked hand on his shoulder and shook gently. Waking him pleasantly was the least she could do to make up for the early hour. His hand reached out and clasped hers, and he grumbled sleepily. She wondered if people still got nosebleeds from excessive displays of adorableness.

“Solas, could you help me?” she whispered, giving his shoulder another light shake. His hand over hers tightened, and she almost thought he was beginning to wake when he gave a sharp _tug_ , sending her sprawling onto his mattress. His free arm snaked around her waist and pulled her against him, revealing through the blanket that he may be having a _good_ dream after all and—

Warmth flooded Ellana’s veins, the pain in her hand all but forgotten. Solas pressed harder against her, almost thrusting, and she _throbbed_ because oh _creators_ , and then the sleeping man started with the tongue. He muttered something and nuzzled into the crook of her neck, and _licked_ , and Ellana let out a small gasp. She pressed her legs together, knowing that it was _wrong_ for her to like this as much as she did, but _fuck. _ The arm around her waist trailed lower, tracing the band of her underwear and Ellana was keenly aware that she was only wearing a pair of panties and a t-shirt and he…bit down on her neck. It was too much and she _moaned_ and…

Solas stilled completely. The only sound in the room was Ellana’s heavy breathing.

Lightening quick, he pulled away from her and drew himself into a sitting position. Ellana raised herself to match on trembling arms, nipples hard and evident through her t-shirt. She made a conscious effort not to pounce on him and demand he finish the job before she did it herself. Solas was looking at her with wide eyes, pupils blown. His nostrils flared as his eyes were drawn to her chest. Ellana had the good graces to flush crimson.

“I—” She started, slightly out of breath, “I needed help.” The light of her mark cast deep shadows on Solas’ eyes.

“With _what_ ,” he said, and his voice was low, dangerous. Almost like a predator circling its prey. The noise ran straight through Ellana’s body, making her shiver. She wondered if she’d ever been this turned on in her life.

“The mark, it’s hurting again. I had hoped you could h-help me with that,” she managed, desperately trying to focus on some part of him that she found unattractive. Finding _that_ impossible, she stared at the wall behind him and held out her hand to show the spluttering light of the mark. Solas made a small, affirmative sound, but made no move towards her to begin the healing spell.

Ellana took a deep breath and moved towards him on the bed.

**

Solas had _indeed_ been having a good dream.

He had been in his office back at Skyhold Associates, and Ellana had been with him. Instead of helping him with work though, as she had in the past, Ellana had been splayed over his desk, wanton and spread open for him. He remembered rising from the apex of her legs to claim her mouth, wanting her to _taste_ , when his dream changed. It was not by much, but their positions had changed, and he was grinding against her, with her body on top of his own. He had just begun to taste her skin, licking and biting, when she had let out a load _moan_.

Warning bells went off in his head, because as much as he imagined these situations, Ellana had never made noise. He had no audial bank of her voice, and one sound he had never heard was Ellana’s moan. It was impossible for him to imagine, so his fantasies mainly consisted of gasps and deep, shuddering breaths. Her moan was enough to wake him, and in seconds, realize what was happening. He moved as far from her on the bed as he could, suddenly dreading her reaction. She would be disgusted, of course, possibly ask him to move out on the spot and…

He saw her eyes. They were wide, and _wanting_. _Void take him_ he could _smell_ her. His fists clenched in effort not to reenact his dream.

She crawled towards him on the bed. He pointedly didn’t look down her shirt, knowing she would be bare. She mentioned needing help, her mark hurting, and really, his mind wasn’t processing much more than how she _looked_ and how _beautiful_ she was.

_No. Stop that._

Solas was aware that Ellana was younger. He was in his thirties, and she was only in her early twenties. She was too young for him, too unknowledgeable of life, and he was _too dangerous_. He refused to drag her deeper into his situation than she already was, with the damned mark on her hand.

In the time he had been pondering, Ellana had moved closer to him on the bed. She reached out her marked hand, brushing his shoulder. The contact was nearly too much, snapping him out of his reverie.

“Apologies. I will heal you.” He said, snatching her hand from its place. He examined it.

“It seems almost… worse? Has something happened?”

**

Ellana did not want to explain her dream—did not want him to think her crazy, or addled in the mind. When she had mentioned the first dream, Solas had brushed her off, called it a “coping mechanism” for the strange magic. She wasn’t about to tell him that she had dreamed of his death, nor that during that time, she had _loved_ him. Better he think the mark simply acted up randomly.

“Nothing, just a nightmare. Could my heightened emotions possibly feed its reactions?” Solas stared at her hand, considering.

“It is possible.” She smiled at this, because it wasn’t _quite_ a lie, and for all she knew, her dream was simply that. He set about the healing, and her eyes grew heavy. He glanced up when she suppressed a yawn.

“If you desire, please feel free to lie down. I suspect this will be a while. I can wake you when I am done.” Ellana flushed, then eased herself down onto the bed, not wanting to sacrifice her comfort for embarrassment. She turned her head towards him, into the pillow, and inhaled. It smelled like old books and elfroot, a distinctly _Solas_ smell. A small smile curved on her lips, and her mind fell into the fade.

**

Solas finished with her hand in thirty minutes. As he reached forward to shake her, the small smile on her lips caught his attention. He knew she would lose it upon waking, and did not want to disturb her small happiness.

 _Sure_ , a voice in his head (that sounded suspiciously like Sera) drawled. _That’s why you don’t want to move her_. Solas sighed, resigning himself to go downstairs and sleep on the couch, when her small hand curled into his pant leg. She was clearly still asleep, and yet…

He found himself suddenly, impossibly sleepy. Perhaps if he settled on the edge of the bed, he could avoid an awkward morning. She was too comfortable, and it would be pure _cruelty_ for him to jostle her in any way, such as by leaving the bed. As he settled, her hand kept its grip on his pants.

 _This won’t do,_ he thought, and interlaced their fingers. _Whoops,_ his mind dryly remarked.

Solas fell asleep with her burrowed into his side, legs tangled. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever slept better in his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoyed! Sorry it took so long to update, but I just posted an Inquisition-era fic titled Suledin-- read it if you want to cry but get a happy ending!
> 
> You are all, once again, the lights of my life.


	8. In Which Things Get Dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING this content contains explicit things! NSFW and NOT IN THE FUN WAY. I hope my all-caps have attracted your attention!!!   
> This chapter contains violence, and mentions of rape. No actual rape, but there are implications/threats. ALSO language is quite explicit.

Ellana grew used to the dreams. Some of them were wonderful (meeting Iron Bull on a beach, watching Vivienne practically castrate a man with magic, playing with Leliana’s nugs…), and those she treasured. But some of them were terrible (a place called Adamant, a swamp full of corpses, and so, _so_ many rifts), and those, _those_ sent her seeking comfort.

It was quite simple that her comfort _happened_ to be Solas’s bed.

She hadn’t meant for it to happen—the first time she had stayed had resulted in her waking with her face mere centimeters from his own, and the feeling of his breath on her lips sent her heart beating in a staccato rhythm. She had stiffened at the realization that she was pillowed on his arm, pressed to his chest by another hand drawn about her waist. Admittedly, she liked the position.

Unfortunately, she had to pee.

Ellana had picked her way out of his arms, nearly stumbling over a book near his door, and made her way out to the bathroom. As much as she wanted to return to his embrace, Ellana didn’t think he would appreciate her invading his private space again.

Not that he seemed to mind it, now that she thought about it. Only a few days ago she and Merrill had engaged in their monthly “get plastered and watch movies” marathon, and while watching _Marley and Me_ is generally a bad idea, it turns into a total _catastrophe_ when drunk.

Merrill had gone outside to smoke a cigarette and dull the pain. Ellana was having trouble breathing due to her sobs. Solas walked in the house to find her hyperventilating on the couch, tears running down her face, and ran to her.

He cupped her face in his hands, trying to calm her sobbing, while asking, desperately, “ _Is it the mark? Has it gotten worse? Are you alright? Ellana!”_ she managed to gather enough breath to wail, “He was such a _good boy!”_ and once more collapse in tears.

Solas then looked at his surroundings, noticing the nearly empty bottle of Tevinter whiskey and the movie playing on the telly. He sighed, rubbing soothing circles on Ellana’s back, and settled into the couch. She curled into his body, fitting like a puzzle piece. She had fallen asleep like that, too drunk and too tired to move, and had woken up sprawled on his chest the next morning. The man didn’t want to jostle her so he _stayed on the couch_ , bless him. He was still wearing his work clothes.

At her realization that perhaps Solas was as starved for physical affection as she was Ellana really had no qualms sneaking into his bed at night. She didn’t do it on principle, but when her dreams threw her out of the Fade, comfort in another’s arms was simply the best way to get back to sleep. It only just _happened_ that Solas slept without a shirt, and had a tendency to burrow into her neck for warmth. It’s not like she looked forward to nightmares, or anything.

Shut up.

The mornings after were routine as well. Ellana would rise with the sun, sneaking out of his room and beginning her day. By the time he made it downstairs, a pot of hot coffee was in the kitchen and Merril was eating an omelet. He liked to sleep in as much as possible, Ellana noted, and would venture downstairs blinking sleep out of his eyes. The coffee helped, but she savored the sight of him so _unmade_. It was a side she knew he didn’t show coworkers or clients, and Ellana treasured it.

Plus _okay_ he was _really muscled_ for an elf.

**

It had been weeks since her nightmare when the letter came. It was taped to the front door, with her name scrawled across it.

Ellana wasn’t really worried, her friends were strange and left letters like that all the time. For all she knew, Merrill had accidentally locked her key inside and needed her to put the spare under the mat. She unlocked the door and walked in without reading it, heading to the stove to prepare a cup of tea.

As the water heated, she began to unfold the paper and unceremoniously flopped down onto the couch. After a few words, her blood grew cold.

“ _Dear Miss Lavellan,_

_It really is a great regret to inform you of this, but you seem to be instrumental to our cause. A friend of mine seeks revenge against your housemate, and in light of recent information, you seem to be the weakest link._

_We understand that this letter may be ignored, hence the small window of time that we will use to act. Most assuredly, if he complies with our demands, you will be unharmed and returned to him. We are sorry that the situation has come to this, but sometimes an eye for an eye is the best way to correct things._

_And a small note to him:_

_Dread Wolf,_

_We have your bedfellow. Perhaps you did not think of the consequences before you adopted such an obvious weakness, but you have most assuredly given us the tool to your downfall. We will contact you shortly._

_Sincerely, the Prince and the God._ ”

Blood was roaring in her ears. There was _no_ way that whomever was targeting Solas was threatening her so _openly_ , was there? Surely they couldn’t be so stupid. Her home was under police supervision constantly, plus Solas himself had warded the house. Ellana soon realized that the roaring in her ears was instead the kettle screaming, and she hustled to the kitchen.

 The thought that for someone to physically place anything on her door would require the wards to be broken did not cross her mind.

She was slammed into the stove from behind, and the kettle holding boiling hot water splashed to the ground, thoroughly soaking her in its contents on the way before landing on her foot. She screamed, because her body was now _covered in third degree burns_ , but also because somebody was _pushing her against the stove and putting their hand over her mouth_. She turned her head to catch a glance of the attacker, but only registered greasy black hair and a large nose before her world went black.

**

Ellana woke in a small room. It was dark, and smelled of mildew. She immediately decided that her situation couldn’t get worse, but then she tried to move.

She sucked in a deep breath, and looked down at her body. Somebody had unceremoniously stripped her down to her smallclothes, allowing full extent of her burns to be exposed. Her stomach and legs were raw and blistering, twinging with pain at every breath. Her hands were bound behind her back.

She wondered if she was going to die here.

The room had a small mattress ( _mildewed_ ) and a pail for, what she assumed, physical necessities. A door, heavy and wooden, indicated an exit. There were no windows, and it had a very large lock.

 _Well_ , she thought, exasperated, _I’m fucked._

It wasn’t even that her situation was terrible, it was the _misconception_ that led to her kidnapping. If she was being honest, Ellana had imagined something like this happening to her, because that was just her _life_ , but being kidnapped for being Solas’s _girlfriend?_

She wished.

And it was really fucked up, but she _did_. Ellana figured that if she was going to get kidnapped for sleeping with him, she might as well be _sleeping with him_. Not just in the literal sense. Damnit.

It was at that point that she noticed the small, blinking light. It was in one of the upper corners of the room, red and flickering steadily. When she realized its purpose, a thrill of fear crawled down her spine.

Perhaps this was a bit more serious than she had thought at first. They were recording her.

And if they were recording her, that meant that something was going to _happen_ to her. And they thought she was sleeping with Solas, aaaaand she was wearing very little clothing. Fuck. Fuck. _Fenedhis, fuck!_

What better way to get back at somebody than making them watch as someone they supposedly loved got hurt and emotionally destroyed possibly beyond repair? Right! There was no better way! Yippie!

The only problem was that Solas did _not_ love her, and was _not_ sleeping with her, and probably _wouldn’t even be getting home until very late to see the fucking letter_. Sure, her getting hurt might make him feel _guilty_ , but it would be far from the gut-wrenching pain her kidnappers surely wanted to inflict. Of course, Ellana would be getting hurt for no reason as well. She didn’t look forward to that. She doubted they would believe her if she told the truth, as well. Of course.

**

The first time someone came to greet her, the camera shut off.

It was almost a relief, because surely they wouldn’t hurt her if they couldn’t document it, right? Right.

The woman sauntered in with a smirk on her lips. She had sallow skin and straw colored hair, eyes two hard stones in their sockets.

It was at that point Ellana realized they were going to kill her. Of course they were, because she wouldn’t be allowed to see anyone’s faces otherwise. _Fuck._

“So, you like blowing up chantries too?” The woman drawled, a slight accent lilting her tone. Ellana merely spit at her feet. The woman ignored this.

“Seems like the people your lover associated with are a bit loony, aren’t they?” she punctuated this with a kick to Ellana’s stomach, directly on one of her burns. A gasp of pain was torn from her throat. The woman smiled.

 _“Don’t worry_ , you’ll be getting more than that in the next few days, little one. My master thinks you’re worth _quite_ a lot.” She gave Ellana another kick, this one to the throat, sending the girl into a choking fit. The woman laughed and left the room, slamming the door. Ellana wondered if she could gather enough mana to cast a spell properly. She was exhausted and in pain, but assured herself that when another person entered the room, she would be ready.

It took days for them to come back. It must have been days, because by the time another person entered her cell, Ellana felt that her stomach was eating its own lining. They had given her water, but the lack of food made her constantly dizzy.

This time, the camera was back on, and two men entered.

They were wearing masks, and one was clearly in the lead. He was broad and tall, and he gave her an apprising look from the doorway.

“Don’t know what he sees in a bitty thing like you.” The second one stepped up behind him, saying nothing. Ellana once more spit at the intruders. The larger one laughed.

“Perhaps you’re fiery in bed then, love? Should we test that?” He made a move towards her, glancing at the camera. Ellana flinched away, gathering energy in her bound hands. If he came at her, she would be prepared. She was ready to let the magic loose when the smaller man placed a placating hand on the big one’s arm.

“We stick to the plan, Raleigh. No more.” Ellana wondered what the plan was, and when exactly they planned to kill her. The thought was less than pleasant.

“Aw, _Raleigh_ , can’t get it up if a girl’s not helpless?” Perhaps snark could help her escape. The large man whirled on her and smashed a fist into her cheek.

“You’ll find out soon enough, _bitch_.” Perhaps not.

He lay in on her, and she could barely gather a coherent thought to notice that the second man was remaining in the doorway. He was obviously hesitant—Ellana filed this information away as something that could be useful in the future.

It was when brute #1, _Raleigh_ , gave her a particularity brutal kick to the chest that she finally thought to act. Ellana sent out a bright wave of fire magic, fiercely orange like her hair, and it…

Washed over the man like water. He guffawed.

“Oh, that is _rich_. Didn’t know you were a mage, bitch!” Ellana stared at him in horror, unaware of why her magic was suddenly defunct. He leaned down until he was scant inches from her face and grinned.

“You’ll have to try harder to hurt a _Templar_ , little cunt.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for some reason I really like hurting my characters! yay!  
> I hope the fluff at the beginning softened the blow though!   
> For reference's sake- the Woman was Calpernia, and Raleigh is of course Raleigh Sampson. See where this is going?   
> Sorry about the angst, but at least Ellana can maintain her bitchiness in the face of peril! Next chapter will contain more salty!Ellana! and perhaps a daring rescue. And maybe some nugs. I have no idea!
> 
> Sorry that this is a bit shorter than usual, it's been a very long week.   
> Thanks for reading!


	9. In Which We Meet New People And Compassion Is Not Good At Being Discreet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains much cursing and one or two threats of rape.

 

Hours blended into days to her, and Ellana was ever-aware of the monitoring of her movements. The two men would occasionally come into the room and beat her, the larger usually threatening rape and such other vulgarities. If she wasn’t so used to it by now, Ellana would be scared. But she _was_ used to it, so really, this captivity was pretty boring.

Her skin had begun peeling from the burns, and at the rate of her healing she figured she had been in her cell for at least five days. Without any light, she had almost no notion of the time and Ellana began to rely on the daily meals she received for a calendar. It would make most sense for them to feed her in the evening, because then she could feel somewhat full as she slept, and then be forced to deal with the cramping hunger for a full day before any sort of relief.

It was almost laughable, because now she was losing the bit of weight she had put on recently. Solas really did like those frilly cakes _too_ much, but to make him happy, Ellana would make them for every meal. He, of course, was unaware of her motives, and thought she had an incorrigible sweet tooth, like he himself. The truth was much the opposite, but if he ate with her more often while thinking their tastes similar, Ellana would eat only candy for the rest of her life.

_I’m a moron,_ she thought to herself, because she was thinking about _frilly cakes_ when her inevitable rape and murder _had_ to be coming soon. She almost wondered why they hadn’t done it already, but after a bit of thought on their voyeuristic tendencies (that _fucking_ camera) Ellana had puzzled out her fate.

They would probably wait for their demands to be met, and then do the deed. To rub it in, like.

She didn’t like the thought.

So, Ellana planned. She thought about how she could gather enough magic to not be immediately dispelled by the Templar, wondered if she could _store_ extra magic somewhere, so instead of hording a large amount of power liable to be lost every time her mind wandered, Ellana tried to store her magic in small places.

During this process, she learned quite a few things:

-If trying to store magic, don’t try putting it in your own hair. Especially fire magic. She had lost a good inch of hair before the Templar stormed in, doused her with a bucket of freezing water, and snapped that they had a _much_ better way of killing her, so “ _don’t get any ideas.”_

-Cloth also does not want to carry ambient magic. She didn’t want to risk her tiny amount of remaining clothes, so the mattress was the test. Another bucket of freezing water, a few kicks, and now her cell smelled like burnt mold.

-Magic would not remain in the air, especially clinging to dust particles. It just dissipated. That was perhaps the most annoying, because _how cool_ would it be if she could turn the very air against her attackers? Very cool, that’s how. Very, very cool. So of _course_ it wouldn’t work.

In the end, she managed to imbue her handcuffs with magic. Unfortunately, given their metal nature and the constant contact with her skin, she was forced to store healing and spirit energy within them. Her healing and spirit magics were weak, but it was better than having frostbite, burns, or accidentally electrocuting herself.

Once this particular problem was solved, Ellana set about strengthening her body. She would get to her feet by shimmying up the wall, do lunges, wall-sits, leg-only jumping jacks, and whatever else she could manage with little to no energy. It was a pathetically small amount of skills to hone.

Her plan was to wait for her attackers to slightly slacken in their beatings, slam them with a stunning spell, cast a barrier around herself, and _run like fucking hell_. A solid enough plan, given her situation.

Things, however did not go as planned. As usual.

**

The first time the two men entered, a different energy was flowing in the room. They seemed tense, and angry. More so than usual. Before the large one, the Templar, could begin his usual beatings, the smaller man strode forward.

And backhanded her.

All ponderings of him being the kind one fled her mind. She was left to stare at him in stunned silence. One of his hands was tightly gripping her chin, the other poised to hit her again. She almost let out a whimper.

“Is _this_ what you wanted?” He snapped, voice tight with rage, “Anders has _escaped_ and he won’t get _any of his punishment!_ ” Another stunning blow to her face. Ellana bit her tongue, and spit blood out at the man’s feet.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She said, because she _didn’t._

“Do not expect me to believe that, _knife-ear_.” The slur was a surprise—she hadn’t been called that in quite a long time. It wasn’t pleasant. With a shove from the man, Ellana was sent sprawling onto the ground. She looked up at the men, then the camera. The woman let real fear bleed into her eyes.

“I’m telling the _truth_.” She pleaded, desperate for a bit more _time_ … The Templar intervened.

“We will determine that. Congratulations, little cunt,” he sneered, leering down at her, “your execution has been put off indefinitely.” As the smaller man strode out of the room, the Templar paused in following and threw “ _sort of_.” Over his shoulder. The door slammed.

Ellana was chilled to the bone.

**

She had been gathering her power for hours, waiting for the men to return. Somehow she knew today would be different from the others. _Sort of_ , she recalled. What could that mean? How could she be dead but also _not?_

She was still struggling with this when the guards re-entered her cell. And _oh._

_Oh no._

The smaller man was holding a large piece of lyrium, the Templar a prod-shaped tool. On the end of it was a burning sun.

The Templar smirked at her when the puzzle pieces clicked into place.

Tranquil. They were going to make her tranquil. _Sort of_ , her mind echoed.

Of _course_.

“Light the prod, little bitch. I think I’ll like fucking you better when you can’t talk.” He said, grinning now, and that was just _rich_. What better show than to have the fire mage light the tool to her own doom? She wouldn’t do it though. She wouldn’t do it even if she had all her mana back, rather than gathered in her handcuffs. At her unwavering glare, the smaller one strode forward and offered the Templar a flame. As Ellana watched the tip begin to glow red, he asked for the tools. The Templar grinned at him and congratulated him for “finally manning up”. Ellana prayed.

_Mythal, guide me to the light. Elger’nan, help me rise in fury, Sylase, let my barrier hold…_ The prod was now sufficiently heated… _Fen’Harel, let my trick work._

In the next moment, three things happened at once. Ellana spread the barrier, as strong as days of gathered magic would allow, beneath her skin, aiming to limit any damage to her to mind. There was a loud bang and much yelling and screaming from deeper within the complex, and the prod and lyrium simultaneously connected with her forehead.

Her plan didn’t work (of course). Ellana had a dreadful moment of clarity as her barrier shattered like brittle ice, the lyrium cutting through it like a bullet through tin foil, and her world went white.

**

The Grey Warden sprinted into the warehouse.

It had taken him far too long to find it. Josephine had come to him, begging him to help her _friend_ , who had been kidnapped by people terrorizing his city. He couldn’t have _that_. He had consoled her and agreed to meet with Cassandra to do a grid search—surely if they worked together they would find _something_ of the missing girl, right?

The Grey Warden had called on his connections (the Red Jennies finally agreed to work with the Silent Sisters) and they took on the alienage district. It was small, compared to all of Denerim, but in the Warden’s opinion, the best place to keep a hostage.

Screaming was not uncommon near the alienage, after all.

It was by a miracle they had found the place at all—it wouldn’t be suspect except for the heavy populous of the building. The warehouses often held squatters, and those too drunk to leave, but this one in particular had _cars_ regularly coming and going from it. Cars didn’t belong in this district, and the fact that nobody was stealing them meant they belonged to people of power.

And people of power didn’t belong here, except for when they were doing very, _very_ bad things.

The Warden didn’t really wait for evidence, he was more of an _act now, think later_ kind of guy (something Josephine constantly pestered him for, but she was easily silenced with a kiss). He had the Jennies set the explosives at one of the back walls and _blasted_ his way in.

He had been expecting an Aquae Lucidius lab, or something like that, but he was merely greeted by a room full of monitors. On the screens was the elven girl he was searching for. Two men occupied her cell, and one was holding a brand. The Warden’s heart nearly stopped when he spotted the lyrium as well.

He didn’t think, really. He was running through the building, making as much noise as possible, anything to distract these _monsters_ from tranquilizing an innocent. He knew the Jennies were close behind him, raising hell as they did, and hoped nobody on his side got killed. The others he cared less about.

It took too long for him to reach her, and she collapsed as he tackled the man holding the prod.

_Fuck_ he thought as he drove his fist into the man’s face.

_Fuck, fuck, fuck._

**

The police had been called.

It was shocking to the public to find that the girl who had been broadcasted on everyone’s televisions, tortured _live on film_ , was being kept in a dingy warehouse near the alienage. Things like that weren’t _supposed_ to happen in Denerim. Only two of her attackers had been caught, and they were captured by a local vigilante who went by The Grey Warden, notorious for his strange sense of justice. Out of the two captured, the Warden had beaten one nearly to death. The other, a woman, had killed herself with a quick spell. The police were less than happy about the situation.

Then there was the matter of the girl herself. The center of a scandal rocking Denerim to its core—somehow connected to the infamous Anders and the famous Dread Wolf of the Courtroom, a seemingly innocent mage turned tranquil for all of the public to watch. According to station gossip, she was not only close with the police chief herself, but also with the entirety of the Major Crimes unit. Messing with her seemed like a fair foolish idea.

Then again, she _was_ just a person. This was amply proven by the way she had been abused and forcefully turned tranquil. She had been seated in the back of an ambulance, blanket wrapped around her body as her glazed over eyes gazed into the horizon. Chief Pentaghast was trying to coax a reaction from the elven woman, but all she was getting were succinct sentences in response. The only way the tranquil could answer, really. If officers around her noticed tears on the Chief’s cheeks, they knew better than to mention it.

The Chief only managed to look up after a car _screeched_ on to the scene, nearly bowling over Bull and the Chargers. Out of it jumped two elves, one looking nauseous and the other with a look of abject horror on his face. He was the one who saw the ambulance first.

“ _Ellana!”_ came a strangled yell, and suddenly the both of them were sprinting over to her. The girl, slight and black haired, collapsed with a wail at the sight of the flaming sun on her friend’s forehead. The man, tall for an elf, crushed the tranquil in his arms, shouting at Cassandra for “not _doing_ anything.”

She, now angry, yelled at him as well. She shouted that this was all _his_ fault in the first place, wasn’t it? Why hadn’t he _protected_ her? At her words, he slumped, still holding the tranquil elf. She rested a hand on his back, as if she were trying to ease the shaking in his shoulders as he choked out a broken “… _I know_ ,” to the Chief.

Indeed, the officers present for that night knew to never speak of it.

**

Ellana was put in a hospital.

Really, being tranquil wasn’t the _worst_ that could have happened. Cassandra had contacted the Hero of Ferelden, a friend of Leliana’s and Merrill’s, and they had found a cure. Hopefully.

The process had never been performed, but Solas couldn’t help but hope. Her injuries were _his fault_. All of this, really, was _his fault._ He stayed by Ellana’s bedside, watching as her wounds closed and color returned to her face. She looked almost normal now, except for the sunburst scar on her forehead. Apparently the ‘cure’ wouldn’t free from her of that, and he dreaded her reaction once she came back to him.

Merrill had become less worried when she heard news of a cure. At the beginning, she had stayed with Solas at Ellana’s bedside, praying loudly to her false gods to save her friend. Solas was glad that she had gone back to school and work, because being in hospitals gave him headache enough.

It was after two weeks in the hospital that the Hero entered the room with Cassandra.

“Step aside, please,” Neria Sabrae asked as she brushed passed him. He obliged, grudgingly, because losing contact with the woman was nigh on impossible for him at this point. Something about her drew him like a moth to a flame. _Fitting_ the thought sardonically, _given the nature of her magic._

Cassandra gave him a dark look.

“If you intend on remaining, Wolfe, I will have to swear you to secrecy. The process is not legal and I will not have it leaving the room.” Solas met her gaze unwaveringly.

“Of course, Seeker. I would remain to assure her safety.” Cassandra gave him a curt nod.

Neria drew a blade down her arm. Solas jumped.

“Creators, accept this sacrifice, and bring me a spirit from the fade. Let them hold this woman and restore her, let—” the room was lit by an eerie green light ( _the same as her hand_ Solas thought), and a spirit manifested. _Blood Magic_ , Solas thought incredulously. He stared in fascination as the spirit drifted towards Ellana’s form on the bed, before realizing what was about to happen.

“Surely you aren’t letting the spirit _possess_ her, are you?” His words snapped with tension, and Cassandra glared at him.

“It need only _touch_ her mind, Solas. Do not think us fools.”

“Have you thought that the spirit may want _payment_ for its help?” He snapped back. “They are just like _people, Seeker!_ They prefer not to be _used like slaves!_ ” Solas was not sure where his anger was coming from, but it manifested in his soul like a steady flame.

“ _Would you prefer we let her REMAIN like this!?”_ Cassandra shouted, flushed red with anger now, and Solas suddenly remembered why the spirit had been summoned—unfortunately, his fighting spirit had always been too strong. He inhaled deeply, ready to shout back, when Neria raised a hand to his face.

“Compassion has always been safe, Mr. Wolfe. He is only here to help, and it is of his own accord. He _knows_ her soul.”

_Compassion_ , Solas thought. The name was familiar, but he knew he had never met the spirit. They were so rare these days, as well. As the spirit reached out with a tendril of its form, Solas tensed. Ellana jolted in bed.

She convulsed again. This time, she turned to the side and vomited. She heaved for what seemed like hours, the spirit settling near her head and almost rubbing her back.

Ellana gasped in a huge breath and pushed the sweat streaked hair out of her face and looked up, meeting his gaze head on.

Her eyes were wide and frantic. Bile ran down her chin, her face was flushed so red it could have been burned, and sweat beaded on her forehead.

Solas had never seen anything so beautiful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW! So that's over. 
> 
> I hope y'all liked Blackwall's cameo, we will be delving into his character a bit more later in the fic- for now, he's just kind of a badass. Aquae Lucidius is the Thedosian equivalent to LSD- it's made from Wyvern venom!   
> The "cure" for tranquility here is the best I could glean from Asunder- I think it worked well enough. Cassandra will go to great lengths to save her friends! Neria is the default name for a female elf mage in Origins, and I kind of postulated that since Merrill already had magic in the Sabrae clan, Neria was kicked out (or sent to the circle). This is a little sketchy since Merrill was traded to Sabrae since they needed a mage, but I'm operating under the assumption that Neria's magic manifested just after her 13th birthday, after receiving her vallaslin. She was sent to the circle, and then Origins happened, yada yada. Merrill came to the clan as a child, and Neria discovered her powers a few months after Merrill arrived-- hence, Neria is a bit older than Merrill and Ellana.   
> Hope you enjoyed! Actual happy fluff is coming in the next few chapters!!  
> Thanks for reading, and once again, your comments give me life and inspiration. I love you all!


	10. In Which We Hear Other Perspectives

Ellana expected nothing.

Well- sort of. She had expected an absence of anything—a dulling of her senses, a lack of emotion, something that would not really _feel_ like anything. She didn’t expect to be aware.

Those who had recovered from tranquility didn’t share their experience. Ellana had always assumed it was because there was little to tell—you were still _you_ , you just couldn’t _feel_ anything.

That perception, however, was wrong. It was very, _very_ wrong.

Rather than being aware of her physical surroundings, Ellana seemed to be… well…

In the fade.

Which was, of course, impossible. Nobody had walked in the fade for hundreds if not thousands of years. At least, nobody reported doing it.

And _oh_ of course they wouldn’t report it, because that would label them an apostate and they would be subjected to the very thing that sent her here. _Right_.

Ellana really hated politics.

She also _really_ hated the physics of _wherever_ she was. There were giant slabs of rock floating in the air, suspended pools of water, and a truly irritating amount green fog as far as the eye could see. In the distance, a dark cluster of buildings rose. Ellana tried not to think about what _that_ must be. Because if it’s what she thought it was, everything would be even _more_ unbelievable and she really couldn’t handle anything _more_ than her inexplicable transportation into the fade.

What would she even _do_ here? She had no weapons (of course), and her head was aching. _That_ was the most annoying part, she thought absently, because of _course_ she had to have a migraine while she could be making _the largest magical discovery of the millennia_. Her hand drifted to her forehead, brushing over the raised skin of the burn.

 _Damnit_. She was sure the burning sun was bisecting her vallaslin. Was nothing sacred anymore? Of course not.

It was with worried thoughts of demons that she started her aimless wandering.

**

_A few days earlier…_

Solas had come home for lunch to find his house in peril.

Not literally, as the building was absolutely empty. The front door, however, was ajar. He was already sporting a headache from work (the _fucking_ Orlesian siblings, no pun intended) and he was worried for Ellana. She had been up late the night prior, and had requested he give her a lasting healing to let her sleep in. She had coaxed him with promises of donuts when he arrived to pick her up, and his sweet tooth really couldn’t argue, now could it?

Solas pointedly ignored the voice in the back of his mind that questioned whether the _real_ treat he craved was Ellana’s smile. It had no place in his head.

That _was_ becoming a somewhat pronounced problem, though. It’s true that Solas was the one to insist Ellana stick close to him for constant healing, but when she started sleeping in his bed, a whole new set of problems arose.

Namely that he would wake with a _very soft_ body pressed against his, and whenever he stirred she would wiggle closer. Her ass pressed against his—well. The problem was clear. And it’s not as if he could _relieve_ himself, now could he? Waking fully and leaving the bed would undoubtedly wake her as well, and she so enjoyed being the earliest riser, if her breakfast routine was anything to go by. Solas knew to take sleep when he could, so he would simply roll over and try not to think of her body, the curve of her breasts, swell of her ass…

Suffice it to say, as soon as Ellana left his room, Solas could reach a hand under the blankets and find a semblance of peace.

And he really, _truly_ hated himself for it—what kind of pervert brings himself pleasure at a girl sleeping in his bed because she was so _terribly plagued with night terrors that she literally could not sleep alone_? He had little doubt that the dreams were connected to the mark on her hand, something that was, inevitably, his fault. It seemed that his presence around Ellana brought her nothing but trouble—she just felt so _right_ to him.

It was, perhaps, the only reason he prolonged his presence at her home.

He could easily afford a new apartment. He had received a more than tidy sum from his insurance agency, something like _“victim benefits_ ”, and yet, Solas hadn’t even begun to look at new places. He tried to convince himself it was because Ellana and Merrill needed the cash, that without him they would be in a terribly tight spot, but Solas was aware that in her leave of absence from school Ellana had taken on an immense number of commissions, and had made more than enough money to cover the lack of a roommate. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to leave the warm meals and sense of comradery.

It was _certainly_ not because Ellana would cuddle into his side whenever she was on the couch. Nor could it possibly be that at work he could casually nap while “healing” her hand. No way.

At least, he would never _admit_ that to be true.

The silence as he walked through the door was the first discordant note of their usually lively household.

Ellana would almost always greet him with a sing-songed “ _Hello, Hahren!”_ he would roll his eyes and yell “ _Hello, Da’len.”_ back.It was a game they played, she would poke at him for his “elderly ways” (really, going to bed early and reading a lot did _not_ make him an old man) and he would in return mock her for her lack of knowledge of the world. Merrill usually looked on with amusement. Today should have been no different, but no song greeted his entrance.

“Da’len?” Solas called into the house. More silence. “Ellana?” he shouted, hoping to reach the second floor. She would always answer him, no matter what situation she was in. A memory flickered of him calling her name from the living room (he wanted to show her an interesting paragraph of the tome he was perusing), hearing a loud _thunk_ , a slamming door, and then being greeted by a slightly breathless and _fully soaked_ Ellana wrapped in only a towel. Soap still foamed in her hair. Droplets of water trailed down her chest to disappear into the towel. Solas lost his train of thought.

This seemed different—there was no sound of hurried footsteps, no affirmation she had heard him. He walked across the living room towards the kitchen, thoughts of her in pain quickening his step. Maybe she had fallen? Had her hand become suddenly unbearable? He couldn’t know without checking. As he entered the kitchen, his blood chilled.

There was blood lingering in a pool of water on the floor, diluting the water in small clouds. Absurdly, the only thing he could think was that _blood did indeed run thicker than water_.

He pulled out his phone to call the police as he searched the house. After terse words with the responder, Solas begin yelling her name again. Perhaps she had just passed out upstairs. Thoughts of when the mark first appeared flitted through his mind, when she had attempted to cut off her hand. He closed his eyes for a moment, praying he wouldn’t find her bleeding to death in her bed.

What he found was perhaps more disturbing. Her room was empty. As was the rest of the house. He walked downstairs more slowly, wondering if she had just cut herself while cooking and went to the hospital herself. Surely, she would have at least send him a text message? As he sat down on the couch, Solas pulled his phone out once more to call Ellana. He was a bit irritated now, because he had been _desperately worried_ and she had _neglected to tell him she was injured._ He was sure she did it on purpose; knowing that he would rush home to heal her and abandon his work. Above anything, Ellana hated getting in the way of his work. It was endearing, but sometimes quite annoying, as she would put herself behind all of his responsibilities, only coming to him for healing if the pain was crippling. He would often have to _force_ her to submit to his healing touch, despite her protests.

Upon calling her, Solas heard the tinkle of her ringtone (some song about the _mercy for the elves_ ) on the dining room table. He sighed, figuring that of _course_ she would forget her phone when she rushed to the hospital. Typical of her. And he wasn’t under the illusion that Ellana had memorized his cellular number. Rubbing a hand across his forehead, Solas stood and walked to the kitchen, cleaning the mess with a wave of his hand. He placed the kettle back in its proper spot and headed back to work. So much for his sweet treat.

**

He and Merrill got home around the same time. She was excited, gushing about a new archeological dig in Halamshiral that started in a few weeks. Her professor had personally invited her to be his assistant, and she was beyond ecstatic. Solas looked forward to time alone with Ellana, even if it would be a torture for him. Perhaps something could happen…

 _No._ He thought firmly. He would not entertain thoughts like that, because she would never accept him, surely. She was too young, too innocent. She could have anyone she wanted—why would she choose a bald Hahren? She wouldn’t.

Ellana didn’t seem to be back yet.

When Merrill questioned him, he informed her that Ellana had injured herself and had gone to the hospital.

Merrill’s nose scrunched up. “That’s funny,” she muttered, “I thought I was her emergency contact?”

A small twinge of worry resonated through Solas’s mind. “Perhaps she didn’t think it necessary to worry you? They are probably detaining her in the emergency room. I am sure you are aware of how long people wait for treatment.”

Merrill glanced toward the door worriedly. “Yes… I suppose.” She said uncertainly.

**

Solas had been sitting on the couch reading when Merrill found the note.

He had assumed it was just a random sheet of paper—living with two students meant spare tests and papers all around the house. He spared her a glance as she looked at the note, her eyes becoming wider and more panicked the more she read. The paper slid from her trembling hands as she bolted for a phone.

“Merrill? What is it?” Solas called from the couch, used to the woman’s sudden onset panic in situations.

“The _note!”_ she screeched back at him while dialing. Solas snatched the paper from where it had fallen, glancing at the paper.

His heart skipped a beat.

**

The video feed went live that night.

Cullen had rushed to the house, Cassandra close behind. Solas realized he had effectively erased any evidence by cleaning the _crime scene_ with his magic. He was furious with himself, answering Cullen’s questions in as much detail as possible while Merrill sobbed into Cassandra’s police vest. They kept the TV on, waiting for the news report. A picture of Ellana would be shown, and the number to a tip line. The newscaster had only begun to read her description when the screen flickered. Solas looked up from his shoes as a fuzzy camera feed filled the screen.

And there she was, stripped, blistering, and staring desperately at the camera.

 _Ellana_.

**

The camera feed would interrupt the news channels every few hours. Each time it did, Ellana was beaten, humiliated on camera. After a day of taking it, she began to experiment.

She tried to set things on fire, as far as he could tell. Solas didn’t care that she was now going to be the country’s most well-known apostate. He just prayed that she could set the men attacking her aflame.

She was every headline. Pictures of her cell circulated the internet, searches throughout the city began.

She still hadn’t been found.

**

The television feeds did not have sound. They were grainy, in black and white. Solas was waiting for the morning broadcast of Ellana, but upon her appearance, he knew something was different.

When the men entered her cell, they goaded her. More than usual. Ellana was trembling, showing more fear than she ever had before. She managed to spit at one of the men’s feet. They left without beating her as much as usual. She stared into the camera with terror written across her features, then collapsed into a sobbing heap.

Solas felt his skin burn with shame. _This was his fault_.

**

When the news returned to normal, the usual analysis of the video feed was cut short. The anchor delivered the news of Anders’s escape with escalating horror.

Solas new that if he couldn’t find Ellana, she would die today.

**

Cassandra had gathered a small police force at the building Blackwall was sure Ellana was being kept in. Tents were set up outside, TVs broadcasting the current news. She waited.

**

Solas and Merrill were on their way to meet her. Merrill was sitting in the passenger seat, streaming the news on her cellular. Solas was breaking several speeding laws. A sharp intake of breath notified him something was happening.

“What, Merrill?” He demanded, not risking taking his eyes off the road. If he crashed at this speed, there would be no hope for life. He at least owed Ellana a chance to beat him senseless.

A choked sob is all that left her mouth. Solas slammed on the breaks and pulled them over, snatching the phone from her hands. The two men were back in her cell. One was holding something—a prod?

As Ellana erected a barrier around herself, he realized its nature. No. No, no, no, _no._

The smaller one connected the lyrium and prod to her forehead. _No._

The feed allowed sound. Enough to hear her scream.

**

Solas broke every speeding law in the book. He nearly hit Bull when he arrived on the scene. It didn’t matter. It couldn’t be true. _It couldn’t._

He spotted the ambulance.

“ _Ellana!”_ Solas shouted, voice mangled. He and Merrill sprinted towards the truck. Merrill collapsed when the burning sun was visible. Solas refused to believe it. He crushed her in his arms, praying to _anything_ that this was a nightmare.

“Solas. Why are you crying? I am fine.” She said. Only it _wasn’t her._ Ellana didn’t _talk_ like that. Her voice was flat. He turned his anger to Cassandra.

“ _Why didn’t you do anything?”_ he shouted. She screamed back, eliciting a row between them. Ellana remained limp in his arms, crushed to his chest. With despair, he noted that her arms were limp at her side. He knew this was his fault. She was effectively _dead_ and it was _his fault_.

“Why are you distressed? As I said, I am fine.” She said, flatly.

“She will be remaining in the hospital, Wolfe.” Cassandra said. Something in her tone made him look at her, his eyes as cloudy with tears as hers. “ _Why?_ ” he said, throat tight. The hospital wouldn’t do much for her.

“A cure is possible—” Cassandra started. It was enough for Solas.

It was enough.

**

Neria Sabrae was not easy to contact.

A scientist, famed for saving a king. Her travels took her around the world, searching for cures for everything imaginable. Cassandra had found her through Leliana.

A cure for tranquility. She was sure it had been done, of course, but any reported “recovery” was usually a result of demonic possession or a faulty rite. Neria had never been able to get in touch with any of the “saved”, but had hoped sincerely to come across one.

She had been in the Deep Roads when the message came. There was no cellular reception beneath the earth (of course), so an actual _messenger_ came to her. Neria was, admittedly, impressed. Upon hearing the nature of the situation, she rushed to the surface. It took around a week before she was on a plane to Denerim.

It was rare for Leliana to call in a favor, so Neria was doing her best to rush. Upon arriving in Denerim, she was greeted by her old friend and a tall, dark haired woman. Cassandra Pentaghast, she presumed.

Cassandra took her to an _archive_ of all places. She explained that her family had once been home of the Seekers of Truth; a very old chantry organization. With no small amount of shame, Cassandra revealed that the rite was created by them.

And so was its reversal.

Neria was dumbfounded by its simplicity. Sure, it required blood magic, but sometimes that was just _necessary_. Having a spirit touch her mind was concerning, because it could always just _possess_ the body, but really, the risk was worth it.

And if the possession took hold? Neria could always destroy the body.

**

She arrived at the hospital to a defensive bald man protecting the tranquil. It was with annoyance that she brushed him off. He could think he was helping all he wanted, but she doubted getting splashed with _her_ blood was high on his priority list. At the cut, a spirit jumped out to meet her.

 _Interesting._ She looked at it, incredulous at its quick response. _Why her, spirit?_ She addressed it in her mind.

 _I know her._ It replied simply.

 _How?_ Neria thought pointedly. _Knowing does not necessarily mean good intentions. What manner of spirit are you?_

It wasted no time in answering. _I knew her, before. I am Compassion. I have no need for a body, but she is my friend._ Neria was a bit shocked. Spirits did not befriend mortals, as far as she knew. She smiled in spite of herself. The interview with the tranquil would be _most_ interesting.

 _Go on then,_ she thought at Compassion. _Bring her back._

As it drifted towards the prone figure on the bed, the bald man started to shout. Neria rolled her eyes as Cassandra responded in kind, then raised her hand to the bald man’s face. _Wolfe_ , she thought. That was his name. She thought Mr. Egg may suit him better. The spirit reached towards the tranquil as Neria comforted the man.

The tranquil seized on the bed.

**

Ellana wandered the Fade.

There was no concept of time here, no real location to focus on. She wandered, aiming for _that rock_ just up ahead, only to lose her focus and find herself in a new location all together.

She wondered if this is what the somniari felt like, in the days of old.

Honestly, it made her a little nauseous. How could they _concentrate_ like this? She felt like the world was constantly shifting, spinning. It was not… comfortable. Not to mention that Ellana was actually getting _bored._ She couldn’t believe it. Here she was _in the fade_ for _fucks_ sake, doing nothing. She partially blamed it on the inability to focus.

There was little about the raw fade in any books she could find, but as far as Ellana could guess, that was her location. It was described as a confusing, ever shifting place. That certainly fit _her_ description. Why couldn’t she have ended up in a nice, cozy house, or something? Somewhere _familiar_ at least!

Her surroundings shifted.

Ellana stared at the _room_ she was in with shock.

… _what?_

It _was_ familiar, she supposed. As familiar as a huge castle bedroom could be. She sighed. If she was going to be trapped in an imaginary room for all of eternity, it _could_ be worse. A bright flash of green shone through her balcony door.

...Ooooor perhaps not. She wondered if the spirit would show itself once more. A cursory glance around the room told her _no,_ she was here alone. Ellana once more walked towards the balcony doors, as she had in the first dream. The sky was different—the breach (right?) seemed to have opened wider than Ellana remembered _._ It was with a bit of relief that she noted both arms present—at least she wasn’t _crippled_ this time. In this dream (construct of the fade? Vision? She didn’t know) Ellana didn’t get to step past the open doorway before a frantic pounding started on the other side of the room.

Ellana stared in shock as _Cullen_ of all people dashed up the stairs to her bedroom. Her shock must have registered with him, because he paused before speaking.

“I guess you’ve seen, then.” He said. Was that _fur_ around his collar? He looked like _Macklemore_ , by the creators! Ellana couldn’t help but let out a snort of laughter. The snort soon became a full bellied laugh. It felt good, after the week she’d had. _Well done,_ she thought to the fade (not, she supposed, that it could hear?), and settled into small giggles. She wondered if the detective would wear this in reality. _Of course not._ She would make him one as soon as she woke up.

And—well actually. That was _if_ she woke up. The thought sobered her enough to examine his expression. He was staring at her as if she was insane.

“Inquisitor, we need to go to the War Room.” He said. _Inquisitor?_ What in the _void_ did that mean? She supposed it meant her though, since she was the only one in the room. He started to leave, motioning her to follow. Before they reached the door, however, Cullen paused and turned to face her again. His expression was grave.

“I _am_ sorry.” She wondered if this was her own mind coming to terms with her likely eternal inability to wake up. _Odd,_ she thought, _I would have preferred Solas comforting me._ She followed Cullen though halls, down a set of stairs, through an enormous great hall (which sported perhaps the _tackiest_ throne she had _ever_ seen—a dragon mouth? Really?), and into a short hallway.

And lookie there! Josephine was sitting at a rather large desk.

Ellana wondered if she was twisting some hidden desire to be Dorothy. She hoped there wouldn’t any tornadoes.

Instead of addressing her, Josie merely stood up and led them into a small hallway. Ellana assumed they were heading to the room at the end, past the giant hole in the wall. She paused a moment, allowing the others to overtake her. _It’s such a grand castle—why hasn’t anyone fixed this?_ She was almost irritated at the sight. Eventually, she walked into what she could only assume was the War Room. And what a sight greeted her.

It was Professor Yavana. Professor _fucking_ Yavana. _Professor Morrigan Fucking Yavana was interrupting her fade-fantasy thing._ And Leliana. Ellana, however, _liked_ Leliana.

Yavana? Not so much. _Ugh._

“Did you... find what you need, Morrigan?” Leliana asked, distaste clear in her tone.

 _Morrigan_ smirked. _Ugh._

“I can match the darkspawn magister’s dragon, if that is what you’re asking.” Darkspawn magister? What a pleasant dream. “As for matching Corypheus, _that_ is up to _you_ , Inquisitor.” Oh? Corypheus? Great, now she has some crazy tevene _magister_ to deal with as well. Honestly, Morrigan was enough.

“What the _fuck_ ,” she laughed. Because really? _Really?_ She just wanted to lie down. Hadn’t she been through _enough?_ Her companions nodded in agreement, as if she’d said something totally different. When Ellana opened her mouth to snap at them, her throat didn’t seem to work. She wondered if she could frown hard enough to communicate her feelings. It seemed doubtful.

“Then all that remains is to find Corypheus before he comes to us.” Cullen stated, looking grim. Ellana stared at him incredulously.

“We’ve been looking for his base since this all began,” Leliana interjected, “with no success.”

“His dragon must come and go from _somewhere_ ,” Cullen replied. Dragon? There’s a _dragon? Dragons are extinct!_

“What about the Deep Roads? We could send word to Orzammar, hire envoys to—” Josephine piped up, only to be interrupted by a bright flash of green light. The mark on Ellana’s hand, previously avoiding her notice, sprang to life, and with it, _pain_. She gritted her teeth and held it up to her companions.

“ _Well, shit_.” This time, the dream let her speak.

**

She was walking out the giant doors of the main hall when he called her.

“Ellana!” he shouted, grabbing her by the shoulder and spinning her towards him.

“Solas,” she said, clearly surprised. He crushed her to him, as if it had been too long since he touched her. Ellana blinked in surprise, stiffening automatically. Solas wasn’t really a _hugger_ —or someone who generally displayed affection, if she was being honest. Not that it was unwelcome. It was very, _very_ welcome. She allowed her body to relax in his grip, burying her nose in his tunic. He was wearing remarkably similar clothes to what he wore in reality. His scent was also the same. She smiled.

His arms slid down to her waist as he pulled back. His forehead rested on hers. Ellana had the good grace to blush.

“You must _live_ , Inquisitor.” His words were strained, as if he was holding back.

“I’m not _the Inquisitor,_ Solas. Not to you,” she said, nuzzling up towards his face affectionately. Perhaps her dream would let her get away with kissing his cheek. She deserved _some_ good things, right?

His hands went to her shoulders and veritably _shoved_ her away. His eyes were full of pain, hatred. She wondered if it was for her, or for himself.

“…Solas?” she whispered, reaching a hand towards him. He started to back away.

“You _know_ I can’t.” he said, and turned away.

She was about to chase after him when a hand fell on her shoulder.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” the reedy voice said, “I had to be called here. I couldn’t find you.”

Ellana stared at the spirit— _Compassion—_ her mind supplied, and shrugged.

“Not sure _what_ to do then,” she said, shifting her hands to her hips. “Not like I’ve _been_ here before.”

The spirit gave her a mournful smile.

“You have. Loving, singing, home but not home, jumping laughing, finally free, but then…” He stops, looks sad again. “Alone again.”

Ellana couldn’t make head nor tail of more than half of what the spirit said.

“Allllright then! Compassion, tell me where to go!” She smiled at the spirit encouragingly. He gave her an unsure smile back.

“I’m supposed to touch you, now.” He said.

Er… _what?_

“I’m sorry?” Ellana spluttered, taking a step back from the spirit.

“Wait no—that wasn’t how it was supposed to go! Let me try again,” he said, and reached to touch her head. Ellana barely felt his fingertips _enter her skull_ before white light blinded her.

 _Wake up_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> macklemore exists in every universe, apparently.
> 
> Also: I'm on Tumblr! I'm always open to prompts- please send me some!   
> iinquisitorlavellan.tumblr.com


	11. In Which Ellana Speaks

Waking up was not fun, in retrospect.

Ellana expected something more… exciting? A bunch of balloons? Flowers covering every tangible surface of her room? A breath of incredibly refreshing air, with warm sunlight hitting her face?

She woke with a mouth that tasted so foul she convulsed and turned to heave off the side of the bed. What came out of her mouth was… disheartening—it looked like a mixture of yellow goo and green _something_ and the sight of it sent her into another fit of dry heaving. She was peripherally aware of Compassion hovering near her, trying to offer comfort with the illusion of a touch. Ellana heaved again, trying not to think of intangible fingers inside her skull, breaches in the sky, and the man she loved walking away.

Speaking of, when did _that_ happen? Honestly, _love_ was entirely different from infatuation and lust, two feelings she _absolutely_ associated with her roommate, and wasn’t it his fault she had been beaten and _tortured_ for days on end? Surely the most logical feeling towards him would resentment, right?

Of course, when Ellana finally pushed her sweat-soaked hair from her face and took in her surroundings, he was the first thing she saw.

And _oh_ , _that was why_ , because his eyes were wide and frantic and somehow in awe of the sight of her, rumpled and disgusting as she may be, and he was clenching his fists so tightly his knuckles were white, and Ellana found herself reaching a hand towards him, like she had in her dream, and this time he _didn’t_ turn away, _didn’t_ deny her, and his hand shot from his side to grasp hers, as if to reassure himself that she was real.

Cassandra tried to subtly clear her throat. Neria was less tact.

“Miss Lavellan? I’m not sure if you remember me—” Ellana looked up sharply, breaking Solas’s gaze.

“Neria?” Her voice held no small degree of wonder, and the older woman smiled.

“Haven’t seen you since you and Merrill defaced the dread wolf back home, huh?” The two women shared a laugh, Ellana flushing slightly. Banter started easily between the two, catching up on their clan’s latest wanderings, what they had been doing, blah blah blah…

By the time the small talk was finished, Neria was sitting across from Ellana on the hospital bed, Cassandra was leaning against the door, and Solas still held Ellana’s hand in a vice grip. The older elf’s eyes lingered on Solas’s hand before glancing to Cassandra.

“Chief Pentaghast, I would like to have a personal word with Ellana, if that is alright?” The Nevarran straightened and Solas’s grip on Ellana became imperceptivity tighter. Ellana bristled at the sudden tension in the room.

“She _did_ just save my life,” Ellana noted, squeezing the hand in hers reassuringly, “I highly doubt she is like to take it away.” Cassandra nodded briskly at this and left without a word. Solas took more time, slowly rising and easing his grip on Ellana. He pierced Neria with a lingering look before exiting the room, pointedly leaving the door open a crack. Both women rolled their eyes.

Neria raised a barrier and started with no preamble.

“What was it _like?_ ” She demanded, voice lowered as if she hadn’t just cast a soundproofing barrier on the room. Ellana looked at her in surprise, because wasn’t it a bit _soon_ to be interrogating her?

_Your own argument is still relevant_ , her mind reminded her, and she gave a wry smile.

“Have you ever heard of Dreamers?”

**

Ellana had been alone with the other elf too long.

It had been over an hour, but every time Solas attempted to re-enter her hospital room, a barrier stopped him from going in. He idly spent his time chipping away at it, small sparks of blue magic startling nurses as they walked by. After a particularity large burst that elicited a small shriek of alarm from a passing orderly, Cassandra put a hand on his shoulder.

“I understand that you’re antsy, my friend, but it is perhaps not _wise_ to be producing magic in such a public space.” He glared at her.

“Why? If someone wants to attack me, I would prefer they actually aim for _me_ this time, rather than at my colleagues.” Cassandra gave him a somewhat pitying look. “It hardly seems to matter, since there is a _blood mage_ in the room with _our friend_.” His voice was quiet but heated, his irritation clear. The police chief rolled her eyes at him.

“Ellana knows her, trusts her, and Neria just saved her _life_. I sincerely doubt any harm will come to her in that room.” Cassandra was being short with him. Deep down, Solas _knew_ it was because she was concerned for her friend; that Ellana’s predicament had been just as trying for her as it was for him, but the fact still remained that Ellana had been through _enough_ without being _interrogated_ after _just waking up._

It was also a bit of a slap in the face, because now Solas couldn’t, in good conscience, ask Ellana what she had experienced in the fade, or wherever one went after… tranquilization.

Solas knew he had been the first thing she laid eyes on, upon coming to. Had reached out for _him_ , something in her eyes mimicking longing and _something_ else that he couldn’t safely discern. Not without looking too far into a single moment.

But oh, how he wanted to.

He _knew_ getting involved was a bad idea. Knew that, inevitably, he was too old, too dangerous. She was a young and vibrant thing, a flower waiting to bloom, and he was a selfish old man who ached to steal her sunlight and keep her forever. He wouldn’t let that happen.

Ellana deserved, more than anything, to be happy. She couldn’t _get_ that with him, or near him. Solas knew one of them would have to leave—if they both stayed, the danger would be too much. Ellana would be hurt again, and perhaps this time, she wouldn’t survive. He could not, _would not_ bear the thought.

But her mark…

The mark on her hand _reacted_ to him—they were connected, another tether tying him to the things that caused her pain. Solas didn’t know if Ellana could even _survive_ the strange magic (though, it had remained mostly dormant during her torture, if the videos were to be believed, and only once during her hospital stay had the mark truly _flared_ ) without him. Dorian and Merrill had both tried to mimic the healing magic he performed on her hand. Neither of them helped, and when Ellana herself attempted it—she did not have the healers touch.

Could he heal it from another location? Perhaps there was some sort of ancient magical device that transferred magic over distances, something he could find in a museum. He had considerable connections, and if he could preserve her safety, then Solas would expend every dirty favor he’d racked up.

In his idle ponderings, Solas closed his fist, and the barrier around Ellana’s room _popped._ He heard a muffled “ _oh for the voids sake,”_ and the barrier resurrected. He once again set to chipping away at it by idly twisting his fingers. Cassandra put her palm to her forehead.

“I was thinking we should send you away,” she started, sound muffled by her palm. Solas glanced up at her.

“I am not sure if _me_ running is the best course of action, Cassandra.” She sighed now and glanced at him through her fingers.

“Not only you, though. Ellana as well. She needs to get out of the city, and needs you there to keep her healed.” The thought had crossed Solas’s mind, but he focused more on the fact that if they were together, not only would he be unable to protect her, but he would also be unable to hold his own feelings back.

“It would not be wise, I don’t think.” He said quietly, twisting his fingers. A loud _pop!_ As the barrier broke. Another replaced it in seconds.

“I think she should go back to her clan, just for a while. Until she is out of the news and Anders is caught.” Solas wished he could blame everything on Anders, he truly did. Unfortunately, Ellana’s injuries were as much his fault as anyone else’s. The fact that Ellana had been forced into Tranquility _was_ his fault though, as was his untimely escape from _wherever_ the authorities had kept him. Solas wondered, after Compassion’s display with Ellana (he called them _friends?)_ , if he had made the wrong choice with the plea bargain. If a spirit of Compassion could befriend a young woman, why couldn’t a spirit of Justice possess an impassioned man?

Solas’s head throbbed with the implications.

“From my impression, her clan would not be very welcoming of me,” Solas began, thinking bitterly of when he had tried to help a dalish clan in Orlais with a land dispute only to be turned away with accusations of “flat ear” ringing in his head.

“You are elves, are you not? Why should they dislike you?” Solas wished life could be that simple, and tried to quell the headache rapidly building in his temple.

“We see things differently, and many of the Dalish resent me for my successes,” he glanced carefully at the barrier around the hospital room and ceased his tampering for a moment. “They believe that I should be using my wealth and influence to solely represent the elves and win back their history.” His voice took on a slightly bitter edge. “When I attempted to help, it backfired on me. My ‘legacy’, Cassandra?” she nodded her head (this was perhaps the most he had ever spoken to her about a personal matter), rapt. “The _Dread Wolf of the courtroom_. It is a curse, really.” Cassandra looked surprised now, “The Dread Wolf is a betrayer to the elvhen gods. He locked them away and allegedly spent centuries laughing and drinking while the People suffered.” Solas returned to tampering with the barrier, knowing that his words were now safe. “As you can tell, they thought it a fitting title.”

Cassandra was frowning at him, a small crease between her eyebrows.

“That does not change anything though, Solas. You may be uncomfortable, but Ellana needs to be at _home,”_ she glared pointedly, as if to remind him who got her into this mess in the first place, “and you _will_ take her there, so as to not prolong her suffering with her hand.”

The barrier snapped angrily, exploding with more force than he meant to exert. Inside the room, Neria threw her arms into the air exasperatedly.

“Fine! You can come in!” Solas glanced at her coolly. “Dread wolf _take me_ , you’re _fucking_ persistent.”

Cassandra noted his wince and chuckled.

“Dread Wolf indeed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shorter chapter today! In the next chapter expect things to actually happen, namely, fluff! lots of fluff and sweet, lovely, happy things. :) I'm gearing up to start a newer fic, one thats going to be LONG. Like, really long. Hella long. Book long.   
> And I can't decide if I should do it in 2nd person! Then it would allow a kind of reader/romantic interest (solas) but still keeping with the inquisotor theme... let me know if you have thoughts!


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